


Choose Your Last Words Part 4

by ElizabethWilde, VicStone



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hand Jobs, Jotun Loki, M/M, Movie Night, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pseudo-Incest, Romance, Rough Sex, Smut, Team Bonding, Team Feels, Team as Family, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethWilde/pseuds/ElizabethWilde, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicStone/pseuds/VicStone
Summary: The Avengers decide to recruit some new blood, and even though their lives have never been easy, things are going to get even more complicated. Then Hydra happens and things get worse. In the meantime, the team finds lust, love, and everything in between. Things are going to get weird.





	1. Chapter 1

Thor hadn’t considered the full implications to sharing a suite with his brother for purposes of oversight until Loki asked whether they would be sharing a room. He felt almost as reluctant as his brother about the idea considering the source of Loki's hatred for him. The anger in his brother stung, not the least because Thor know it was his own fault, and that as the years had passed he'd very slowly allowed any real chance at reconciliation slip away. Once they were in the suite, Thor set his hammer carefully on the floor and gestured to the couch. "I will sleep here, brother. You'll be more comfortable in the other room, I'm sure."

"I would be more comfortable well away from you," Loki answered, sounding more weary than angry, "but I suppose that is too much to ask." He noted the way Thor flinched and inclined his head. "You cannot pretend that you have any greater desire to spend your time in my company. I was in those cells for months, and the only familiar face I saw was not yours." Frigga had visited him as often as she could stand it. He could see her hesitance, the uncertainty. She might have raised him by Odin's side, but he knew that when she looked at him, she no longer saw the child she had taught and nurtured. Most days Loki far preferred it when she left him to his solitude. Unable to stand being so close to his brother for another moment, Loki turned, murmuring, "I shall take my leave," as he escaped into the other room. 

"Brother...." Thor bit his lower lip as Loki disappeared into the other room. The thunder god shrugged off his armor and tugged off his boots with a sigh, settling on the couch for a moment as he rolled the situation over in his head. Thor wasn't always the most adept at handling delicate matters, but he'd grown since the last time he spent any real time in his brother’s company. Loki needed a friend. Reassurance. Thor knew he was the last person his brother wanted to talk to, but he also knew he was the most familiar face around. The truth was, it had hurt Thor too much to see Loki imprisoned, to think about the betrayal and know that he'd done a lot to drive his brother toward it. He wanted to apologize, but he had no idea where to start. Deciding it might be better to wait, Thor settled into the couch as best he was able, letting himself drift off.

Loki woke early the next morning and looked around the room. It was obvious from the cold, pristine state of it that his brother rarely stayed at the tower. He was in Asgard or with his mortal lover. Ignoring the pang that came with that thought, Loki crossed to the dresser and found a pair of sweat pants to change into. Conjuring clothing was all well and good, but he preferred something a bit more certain considering the fact that he was going to need to focus his energy on keeping his condition under wraps. Even with the pants tightened as much as they could be, they still hung low on his hips.

Loki let the glamour fall for a moment, studying his arms. The blue tint had deepened, and the lines were unmistakable. Instead of fading, it seemed that the color had settled in and bloomed more fully.

Thor had intended to immediately announce his presence when he walked in. Instead, he found himself struck by how beautiful Loki was, even in such simple clothing. He watched in surprise, though, as the shimmer of Loki's illusion falling away revealed the bizarre tint of his skin. "Loki," he murmured softly, his tone gentle and brow furrowed with concern. "Brother, is this sorcery or... are you ill?" Thor wondered if it was an impostor, some other creature that had been posing as his brother. But no, the face was distinctly Loki's, the icy blue eyes most certainly his. He'd never seen his brother like this before, and it was disconcerting at best. He wondered if this had always been Loki's true state, considering his lineage.

Loki looked up sharply, frozen for a moment by the genuine concern he read in Thor's eyes. It was difficult to understand and even more difficult to process. He opened his mouth to tell Thor that it was none of his concern and then sighed. "The hammer. When Mr. Stark used it to power that ridiculous weapon of his - the one he very nearly killed himself with - it did this to me. It drains life force of those who aren't supposed to wield it, so what does it do to the people it is wielded against when the hammer is with someone other than its owner?" Loki sighed and grabbed a shirt from the drawer, hurriedly pulling it on despite it being a good three sizes too large. "I have no idea whether this is... whether this is permanent or temporary, but it's gotten worse. More prominent." He focused in again, and it took a moment for his skin to look normal again. Looking back up at Thor, he expected to see disgust following closely on the heels of the initial worry. "The weapon may wish for others to see me as I am, but I have no such desire."

Loki should have looked patently ridiculous with his hair a mess and wearing Thor's clothes. Instead, Thor found himself quietly intrigued by the sight. It reminded him of the first few times Loki had come to him in the night, vulnerable and uncertain and asking for things they both knew were forbidden. The thunder god tore his mind from the train of thought and focused on the moment. "And is this the way you are, brother? I do not recall seeing you this way before," he said, wanting to offer his brother comfort. He wasn't sure how, though. He doubted Loki would welcome even a simple hand on his shoulder. "You do not share the traits of your birth father, much as you seem to think you do." It was true. Loki might have lacked the typical Asgardian sense of honor, but he was by no means cold-blooded. Hurt. Misguided. Terrible at coping healthily. Perhaps even a bit insane. But he didn't have the heartless, savage inclinations of the ice giants.

Loki tore his gaze away. It was too difficult seeing something so familiar as affection in Thor's eyes. That stung in a way he wasn't sure how to handle, honestly. It hit too close to memories he worked hard to keep buried far from the light of day. "I have never looked like this, no. Perhaps it has always been there..." He closed his eyes and finally confessed, "I should speak to our... to your mother." Speaking the words aloud, forcing himself to disavow his own connection to the woman, was almost too much for Loki too keep the mask in place. "Perhaps she will know some remedy."

"Our mother," Thor corrected, stepping in close to Loki. He still left his brother with his own space, but he wasn't willing to leave that lie. "Loki. Brother. Perhaps she did not give birth to you, but she loved you. She may yet. She never spent the time with me that she did with you." He quirked a faint smile. "You were far smarter than I. You were her favorite." He reached for Loki's shoulder before hesitating and letting his hand drop as he caught himself. "I have the means to speak to her." He pointed to a small device on the desk. "She will know how to help you, I feel sure of it."

Loki sank into the chair before the desk, staring at the device. He knew full well what to do with it, but it took a half dozen shaky breaths before he could force himself to press the button that would activate it. It took a moment before Frigga's face appeared. He opened his mouth and was suddenly struck with the entirely unfamiliar sensation of being uncertain of what to say.

She seemed similarly affected. "I had worried that..."

"That I might have killed my brother and run away by now?"

"That you might be dead," Frigga corrected, eyes bright but tone sharp. 

The momentary sarcasm died at that, and Loki had to look away. As always she saw him more clearly than anyone. "I live." He looked over his shoulder at Thor. "I do not know what I have done to deserve it, but my brother and Mr. Stark spoke in favor of mercy."

Frigga sighed and shook her head. "You never have seen your own potential, but I also do not believe that you called to tell me that you are alive. Or to apologize, for that matter."

"I truly am-"

"I know that, my son. Speak plainly: why have you called on me?"

Thought reluctant to do so again in front of Thor, Loki let the glamour fall away to reveal the skin beneath. "The weapon that Mr. Stark used during the battle seems to have had an effect, simply not the one they intended, and I know not how to fix this."

Frigga's eyes widened at the shift in Loki's appearance, and she studied his image closely. "It has brought you closer to your heritage, my son. But not to your true nature, as you fear," she said gently. She had easily read the fear written in his eyes. "Listen well, my son. You must do this, as I cannot reach you there on Midgard..."

It was a long list of magic instruction, the majority of which Thor had no understanding of. He found himself envying the connection their mother shared with Loki, and he realized then how Loki must have felt when Odin had focused his affections more closely on Thor. Once Frigga had explained everything to Loki and made him repeat it back, Thor made certain to exchange a few words of affection with his mother before they said their goodbyes. He then looked to Loki, taking a few steps back when he realized he'd likely invaded his brother's space in the course of speaking to their mother. He shifted uneasily as he tilted his head in inquiry. "Do you require my assistance for any of this?" he asked.

Loki looked up at him and nodded slowly. "Yes, I will." He hated asking for Thor's help even more than he'd hated asking for Fury's, but that didn't change the fact that he needed it. "The magic is complex, but not beyond my skill. It is, however, beyond my energy. I cannot perform the magic needed without drawing from someone else." He was thankful that Frigga had said it all in front of Thor so that he knew it was no trick. Even knowing it was an earnest need, Loki had no illusions that Thor was somehow bound to telling him yes or helping him. "If you agreed, I would need to be in contact with you while the spell is performed to draw upon your life force."

Thor hesitated only a moment. It wasn't a trick; he'd heard his mother speak the words himself. The thunder god nodded. "If that is what is needed, I will help you gladly," he decided, hoping that Loki wouldn't use the opportunity to weaken him and do yet more evil. "But know that I am trusting you, and that the Avengers would not like this." He knew Fury would be outraged, in fact. But Thor still had too much of a soft spot for his brother to tell him no when he needed help. He gave Loki a pointed look. "I am trusting you, brother. I hope you will not make me regret it."

"Any weakness will be temporary," he assured, amused to think that Thor was worried about him trying something and he was simply worried about the intimacy of having to touch the man. Reluctantly Loki rose. "Come, it will be easier if we're seated." He climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged on top the unmade sheets, his hands resting palms up on his knees. He had left the glamour down, knowing it would be important that they both be able to tell whether the spell was working or not to know when to stop. "Come, brother. I intend nothing untoward, I assure you."

Thor nodded, hesitating only a moment longer before climbing onto the bed and seating himself opposite his brother. It was a gesture that felt uncomfortably familiar, and he took a moment to gather himself before looking up at Loki's face. He held his hands out, unsure of exactly how the spell was supposed to go. His gaze drifted over the blue tinged skin, the odd ridges, and he could no longer stay the impulse to reach out and gently trace one of the strange lines. The touch was born more of curiosity than anything, and Thor withdrew a moment later as he realized the impulsiveness of the move. He looked away a little, his hands still on offer as he willed away the slight flush he could feel rising in his cheeks.

 

Loki sucked in a breath at the touch. The familiar intimacy left his gaze utterly naked for a moment as he stared back at Thor. He tore his eyes away and instructed, "Place your hands over mine," in a voice far less certain than he'd have liked. He regained what he could of his equilibrium and, once the heat of Thor's skin touched his own, began quietly chanting the proper incantations. Normally he found them foolish, preferred to use mental focus or an external force like a staff or wand, but the spell was his mother's. She preferred tradition. If it worked, he didn't care if it felt a bit silly to sit in bed and murmur Norse prayers. With every fiber of his being, he tried to ignore the distracting sensation of being close to Thor, of touching him with something other than anger for the first time in longer than he cared to recall.

Thor gasped softly as the spell took hold. He could feel a faint tug, a slight ebbing of strength. Instinct made him want to draw away, but he instead forced himself to hold fast. He focused on the contact instead, Loki's cool fingers pressed into his. He hadn't missed the raw, familiar look in his brother's eyes, and that stayed him more than anything. He watched as Loki's skin seemed to slowly return to normal, relieved to see the spell working even as he felt himself growing weary. "Brother... I think... I think you are well enough," he stammered, hoping that Loki truly meant no harm.

The surge of power was intoxicating, but the words were enough to snap Loki free of its thrall. He could hear the undercurrent of weariness in Thor's tone. He stopped speaking and the tug eased. Loki pulled his hands away and immediately missed the warmth. He wanted to give in to his exhausted mind and heart and crawl forward until he could feel Thor against him, to have just a few moments of being close to someone, being held. He hurriedly dismissed the impulse as weakness and rose from the bed on trembling legs as he examined his skin. "Thank you, brother. I am... I am grateful for your help."

"You are welcome." He gave Loki a lingering stare. "I do not wish to see you suffer." The words were quiet but sincere. That much had been true all along. It was why he hadn't been able to bring himself to visit his brother during his incarceration. It was why he hadn't had the heart to do far worse to Loki. It was why he hadn't been able to bring himself to allow SHIELD to put Loki to death even when it made sense. Deciding that Loki would likely want his privacy again, Thor slid to the edge of the bed and started to rise, then sagged back onto the mattress again wearily. "Perhaps I should rest a moment."

 

"Lie down. This is your room anyway, not mine. I will... I will stay here and see that you rest well." Loki had no real worries that anything would go wrong. Frigga would never put Thor's life in danger. //She trusted me to stop before I killed him, so perhaps she would at that.// "Sleep. When you wake, you should feel yourself again." Loki felt raw and exposed and far too fond of his brother. He needed Thor to sleep so that he could gather himself together again and possibly see if anyone could find him some clothing that was appropriate for someone who didn't happen to be six solid feet of muscle.

Thor hesitated, then nodded. If Loki had wanted to kill him, he'd already passed up the chance. He could see the unease in his brother, but wasn't sure of what it meant. He started to offer his hand to Loki, to invite him to join him, but stopped himself. He wants no more to do with you than he did a moment before, Thor reminded himself. "Thank you, brother," he said quietly. He started to lay back, then tugged off his shirt. It felt too stifling at the moment. With a broad yawn, he rolled over in the bed and drifted off. 

For a few long minutes Loki found himself simply staring. He realized his mistake soon enough and tore his gaze forcefully away from Thor, stalking into the other room. Deciding the direct route was best, Loki opened the door and smiled faintly at the sight of SHIELD guards flanking it on either side. "Gentlemen, perhaps one of you could help me? I think it would be frowned on if I were to leave, but I find myself in need of clothing that actually fits." It was surprisingly easy to talk the men into getting him what he needed with his promise that he would stay put in the room. As it turned out, SHIELD's desire to have him sequestered away with Thor had its upsides, and within half an hour, one of the guards was grudgingly delivering a bag of assorted clothing to him. 

Loki didn't know where it had come from or who selected it, and it didn't matter. Midgardian fashion was something it would take time to learn, and he was satisfied with something that fit for the time being. The jeans and green button down fit the bill well enough. Loki was almost sad to set the sweats aside, to leave behind the feeling of swathing himself in Thor's clothes, and he tried not to think about it more than was necessary. Instead he settled in on the couch, feet crossed beneath him as he used a tablet left lying on the kitchen table to begin exploring the new world in which he found himself a bit more fully.

Thor stepped out of the bedroom. He'd pulled a fresh button-down shirt on from the drawer, only buttoning three of the buttons across his stomach. Catching sight of Loki curled up on the couch and studying the tablet intently made him smile, reminding him of their youth. Loki had always been studying, learning. He'd often taken time to try and educate Thor on various subjects, stretching his patience much further than one might have expected. Thor stayed still, watching Loki for several minutes before he finally moved to settle on the armchair. "And what have you learned of Midgard so far, brother?"

"That it will either be the most thrilling place I've ever stayed or the most boring," Loki answered, not looking up until he finished reading the article he'd been thumbing through. A glance up revealed Thor with his chest half bared looking entirely too lovely for either of their good. "I could help with those buttons if you're having difficulty figuring out how to use them." It was utterly unfair, Thor looking like a dream come to life. It would have been much easier to hate him and be frustrated with him if he looked as heartless as he could be at times. Deciding that it would be easiest for the both of them to drive the most obvious possible wedge in, he sniped, "And how is Jane? I have yet to meet your lady love."

Thor had the decency to blush a little, but took the hint and closed the shirt up to a slightly more decent level. Only slightly. He found Midgardian clothing a little stifling, truth be told. "She is well, as far as I am aware," he allowed, smiling a little. "I have not visited her recently. She is always so upset when I leave, and father does not approve. It seems cruel, to visit her when I cannot stay." He sighed, the smile fading as he plucked absently at the arm of the chair. "We have been less close of late."

Loki, who had drifted back to tapping away at the tablet while Thor spoke, looked up with eyebrows raised at the pronouncement. His brother had seemed wholly besotted with the girl, and he spoke with only faint sadness of leaving her behind. //Is it really surprising to find that he is fickle?// "Have no fear, brother. You are a prince on Asgard and a hero here. Surely there is no shortage of men and women ready to fill her place."

Thor nodded, looking a little forlorn at the thought. "Perhaps, brother." He dared a quick glance at Loki before fixing his gaze absently on the tablet. He cared deeply for Jane, but it truly seemed unfair to ask her to wait for him to show up whenever he could. And she was mortal. And the man that Thor had come to for nights on end was sitting there- //Stop it. You are fooling yourself to even think it.// He let himself imagine instead a time where they could at least share stories, trust one another again. "I hope you will like Midgard, brother. It has a lot to offer." He nodded at the tablet with a faint quirk of his lips. "Even the mischief you so enjoy."

"Mischief? Me? Why, I am the perfect paragon of appropriate behavior, brother," Loki answer with a wry smile. He set the tablet aside, surprised to find that Thor seemed set on sitting and speaking with him. It was a strange thought and a stranger reality. "I had imagined you would do your duty and little more. You've as much reason as any of them to hate me." Loki found himself staring again, watching Thor intently as if that might allow him to see what was going on inside his brother's head. "More than some. Are we to be friends, then? Wash the past away?"

It was nice to see Loki smile, reminded Thor of much more carefree days. At Loki's question, though, Thor turned thoughtful. "Brother, I have no desire to stay in this suite with you while we sulk at either end of it." He could sense that Loki was trying to figure him out and determine what was going on in his mind. "You have been granted another chance, and I had a part in that." He looked away. "You have hurt my friends dearly. You threatened mother. Bewitched me." Pale blue eyes rose to meet Loki's once more as he confessed, "It may yet be a long time before I feel I can fully trust you, brother, but... I don't think I ever had it in my heart to hate you."

The words hurt more than they should have. Loki knew that no one truly trusted him. They had no reason to. Only a fool would trust someone who had purposefully hurt them again and again. //So why would I want to be his friend, then? Why speak to him?// Loki swallowed against the pain of memory and the sharp contrast of it against the way his brother looked at him in the present moment. "What is in your heart, then? Is it the girl? Jane?" It hurt him on a nearly physical level to speak the next words, but he forged ahead. If he had any chance of redemption, he had to learn to say things for the benefit of others and not only for himself. "If it is, brother, do not let our father's wishes rule your heart. We have both lost much from putting too great a weight on his words."

Thor looked pained, but found himself nodding in agreement. "That we have, brother," he said, tilting his head a little as pale blue eyes studied Loki's face. Thor wasn't always the best at deducing things, at understanding what others were thinking, but even he had heard the unasked question. //Surely he doesn't yet...// "I do not think it is her that occupies my heart. Not truly." Loki had been too right about them letting Odin's ideas rule them. When Loki had confessed to wanting more than simple clandestine meetings, to wanting to rule side by side with him, Thor had known his father would never have tolerated it. He'd severed all but the most basic ties with his brother, and it had cost them both in ways Thor couldn't have imagined.

For a moment, Loki was struck entirely dumb. He could say nothing in reply to the confession given its implications. Dense as Thor could be, even he couldn't have been unaware of how he would take the words. Finally he tore his gaze away to let it rest, unfocused, on a swath of pristine hardwood on the floor. "Would that I had known that long ago." Perhaps if he had things would be different. Loki knew that too much had passed between them for him to hope. Even if he had not so thoroughly betrayed Thor's trust, "You are Odin's heir, and I am a fugitive from Asgard. My place is here now if I can create one for myself. Your place is there."

Thor nodded, hoping the pain those words caused didn't show. "You... speak the truth," he allowed, taking a deep breath and suddenly wishing he had somehow learned to hate his brother. It would have been far easier to glower at the other man from across the room while Loki fiddled with his tablet in a solitary haze. As it was, it was painfully difficult to resist the urge to gather his brother up and tell him things would work out and give him some reason to smile. That idea in his head, Thor inclined his head a little to get Loki's attention again. "Perhaps I belong in Asgard, but I will be here a long while, it seems. Perhaps I could show you some of Midgard? There is a popular food here known as a hamburger. Have you tried one?"

Loki's brows knit for a moment at the abrupt shift in topic, but the words brought a hint of a smile just the same. "No, I don't believe so. The Brotherhood managed most of the food in our base, and they were less than creative." He stretched his legs and allowed, "Now that I have proper attire, I think that perhaps I am fit for public." He rose and waited for Thor to do the same. "I will follow you. I think that the guards might take issue if I do not." It was far easier to keep the conversation light, and Loki continued, "I have thought that I might do well to cut my hair. It seems more the fashion here." 

 

Thor seemed to ponder the idea, sticking his chin out thoughtfully. "It is difficult for me to imagine. Still, I suppose it might suit you," Thor allowed, leading the way toward the door before Jarvis stopped him with the movie invitation for the both of them. Thor glanced a Loki, then smiled faintly. "Tell Dr. Banner we will join them, and gladly," he decided before leading Loki out the door. The two guards looked concerned, and Thor gave them a dark look. "I do not intend to keep my brother contained here for the rest of our lives. Or yours, since you'll expire far sooner. We intend to enjoy Midgard." Without another word to the men, Thor brushed past them, and it was easy enough to imagine him still in his Asgardian finery with the way he held himself.

Loki grinned despite himself at the guards making way. "It seems that you are not a prince on Asgard alone." He held up his hands in surrender before Thor could say a word to defend himself. "I do not mean it as an insult, brother. There are times when a commanding presence is needed. It surprises me, in a way," Loki mused as they walked down the street. Thor got plenty of stares, but he went more or less unnoticed at his brother's side. "It surprises me to see you taking orders instead of giving them. Captain Rogers is the head of the team, is he not?"

Thor raised an eyebrow at Loki. "This is his world, and they are his people. I am merely a visitor," he said, though it did seem a little odd, when he thought about it. He smirked at his brother. "Or would you have me command the Avengers as well as Asgard? I think, perhaps, that might be more work than I'd care for." Indeed, considering how unruly humans were, the idea sounded like a challenge equal to his own duties as Odin's heir. "I think I'd much rather leave those pains to the Man of Iron and Captain Rogers."

It was a dramatic change in sentiment. The brash boy that Loki had known so well once upon a time would have wanted every ounce of the glory and the control in the field of battle. It was a change for the better. //Perhaps if he can make those, I can too.// "Tell me about them, these Avengers. You know them in a far different way than I do. I have heard some of what Mr. Stark thinks, but I prefer to know your thoughts as well. I have fought against them. You have fought alongside them."

Thor smiled, pleased to see his brother interested in his friends. "There is much to tell, brother!" he said, smiling broadly. "You know much about Captain Rogers, yes? Very stoic in battle, but he is truly humorous when he so desires. And the mighty Hulk is surprisingly quiet. He much prefers to stay in his lab. Indeed, he seems rather reluctant to wield the power he has at his disposal."

"That much I knew," Loki allowed with a flicker of a smile. He supposed there was some translation for what he knew. "I also happen to be aware that when he so chooses, that power is... considerable." Banner had left him bleeding and injured more quickly than even Thor had managed. It was actually a bit terrifying how much strength the Hulk possessed. "And Captain Rogers is in love with Stark. That wasn't always the case. I recall them being at odds in the past... barely friends, certainly not lovers."

Thor looked surprised, not at the news but at the fact that Loki knew it. Tony didn't seem like the sort of person to share that with someone who was holding him in captivity, though he'd certainly seemed to hate Loki far less the last time Thor had seen the man. "He told you this?" Thor asked, getting a nod. "You must have talked with him at length." He hesitated, the pressed, "Forgive me brother, but... how did you convince Tony Stark to tell you these things? When last I came to Midgard, he seemed to have little care for you."

"I think he still cares little for me," Loki answered carefully, "but we talked." He considered his promise to Tony and finally decided that if Thor was to be his bodyguard, he might as well be an ally too. "When I first took him back to our base, I thought that in the end, I would need to dispose of him because you all thought him dead already." It was something he confessed not with pride but with a faint shrug as if to say that he'd had no better plan. It was the truth, after all. "I gave him what he wanted for a time, played the role of the good Captain... it was not, as you might imagine, a natural fit." Loki glanced at his brother, sure he would see the man's usual harsh judgment there. "In the end, of course, he asked me to say nothing to Captain Rogers. I agreed, and confessed a secret in return. I needed his trust. I told him about us. Parts of it, in any case. You should have no fear of him sharing the information. I rather think he would have preferred not to know it himself."

Thor's expression was not so much judgmental as somewhere between overwhelmed and shocked, and he stopped walking to face Loki. "Brother..." He trailed off, momentarily unsure of what to say. It wasn't so much the he was terrified anyone on Midgard might find out what had happened between them; it was that they hadn't even fleetingly discussed what had happened between them in... well, centuries. Add to it what Loki had done to - //with?// - Stark, and Thor was having trouble processing a proper response. He reached out and touched Loki's arm as if trying to find some sort of anchor, his fingers brushing the fabric of the other man's shirt before he caught himself and drew away. "Brother." He took a deep breath. Loki didn't need more ridicule. "There is nothing that can undo that, then." It hurt to think that memories of what had passed between them were so hurtful that Loki considered the facts a fitting hostage to keep his own lips sealed. Thor had the decency to look a little ashamed as he started walking again. "Perhaps... perhaps we both have much to atone for."

Loki had frozen at the near-touch. The rustle of fabric against his skin left him wanting to stop and move into Thor's personal space. It would have been so easy to be stupid and to forget himself, but he held back with an effort. He fell quickly back into step next to his brother and nodded slowly. "I do know if there is even a way to atone for all that I have done, but I am bound to try. Stark... before it all happened, I confessed that I felt I had no other road to walk, no way to stop before things went further. Certainly he only wanted to save his own life, but he offered a choice. For once I wanted to make the decision that did not leave me alone. All that remains to be seen is whether any of the other Avengers are quite so forgiving."

Thor wondered just what, exactly, had passed between his brother and Stark to encourage Tony to be so forgiving. Sex could be persuasive, but considering what Thor had been told of Tony's exploits, he didn't seem a man easily swayed by lust alone. The thunder god felt a slight pang as it occurred to him that perhaps Stark had listened far better to his brother than he ever had. "I am glad, then, that he made the offer." Thor looked at his brother in a way that was more tender and gentle than it had been in many years. "I confess, I do not think I could have ended you if you had not changed your path." Of course, Sif or Clint wouldn't have had such qualms, but Thor wasn't sure he could have withstood letting it happen, either.

They'd reached the restaurant at last, and Loki looked askance at his brother as they settled down at one of the outdoor tables. The day was lovely, but the time was between meals, and most people were milling past, leaving plentiful seating. It felt oddly private despite the fact that they were sitting in full view of everyone else. When the waiter approached, Loki deferred to his brother. "You are the expert," he demurred with a flick of his wrist. When the girl disappeared with their order, he leaned across the table toward Thor. "Would it really have been so hard? After everything that I've done? I suppose I find it far easier to understand someone wanting to kill me than not. Your Mr. Stark... he is an interesting man. It's a shame, really, that he's so taken with Captain Rogers."

Thor looked down at his glass of water quickly to hide the sting he felt at the words. //Don't be foolish. You relinquished your chance long ago.// "I suppose so. He is a brave warrior, contrary to outward appearances," he agreed reluctantly. Gathering himself, he looked up at his brother once more. "And, yes, it would have been difficult, brother. Even after everything you've done." He glanced away for a moment. "Even knowing you might do it again." Ice blue eyes met Loki's and Thor took a careful breath. "Too much has passed between us for it to be so simple."

It was Loki's turn to look away. Of course Thor thought he might fall back on his old ways. How could he not? In truth Loki wondered whether he could keep himself in check. The dark parts of his mind whispered things that were difficult to ignore. He found himself searching for the patterns between the Avengers to use them to his greatest advantage, looking for weakness only to remind himself he should be seeking out their strength. "I wish to change. Once... once we were friends, you and I. Before everything else. I would like that again."

"Then we shall be, brother," Thor decided, shifting back in his seat as their food was delivered. "I do not wish that there should forever be a rift between us. It is my hope that you will join the Avengers and that we shall battle side by side once more, and..." He trailed off, biting back the next thought. "And that we become friends again," he finished quietly. He wanted more, foolish as he knew it was. Even dangerous. He knew that Loki had hardly proven himself trustworthy, and Thor had to forcibly remind himself that, vulnerable as his brother might seem, it could still be an elaborate plan. Hoping to lighten the moment, Thor gestured to the food. "You should eat. You will not be disappointed."

Loki smiled at his brother's enthusiasm. It was hard not to. Even in so awkward a time, Thor thought with his stomach. As it turned out, he wasn't entirely wrong about the food. Perhaps Midgard won't so bad after all. At least the food would be succulent even if the company, for the most part, wanted to kill him. It was fair considering that he'd intended to kill all of them at one point or another. The mortals were fools, but they were not useless fools as he'd first thought. Among them were men like Stark who offered help against any sort of sense. There were men who knew how to be truly good, and that was a skill that Loki found himself in need of education about. He watched Thor eat with relish while he took in his own meal. "Eager as always, brother. It is good to see that some things have not changed."

The blonde grinned broadly at his brother. "I may have grown, but I have not lost my love for life. Perhaps we should enjoy some libations after this," Thor said around a mouthful of food, somehow still managing to smile. "There is little mead to be found here, but there are many other kinds which I believe you shall enjoy." It felt good, simply talking to his brother with no tricks, no games. There were no threats to be thrown about, no competition or resentment. As the waitress approached, Thor thrust his empty tea glass at her, "Another!" The woman seemed amused, if flustered, and Thor felt pleased with himself for having learned that he didn't have to break anything to get a refill.

Loki couldn't help but laugh at the bold order and the look on the waitress' face. "You never have been particularly good at blending in." Thor stuck out even in Asgard, mostly because he wanted to stick out. He wanted all eyes to be on him. //And why not? He's certainly worth looking at.// Loki brushed away the stray thought and focused instead on sitting back in his chair and watching the world move around them. It was different watching the mortals scurry about their business without thinking of how to subjugate them. "I may like it here. I may make friends. Then, of course, I shall get to watch them all wither and die." He paused. "Perhaps I should see about making better friends with Captain Rogers. I understand he has a better chance at longevity than most."  
Thor raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it is better to live in the moment, brother. We shall outlive them, yes, but it does not mean we cannot enjoy them while they yet live." He smiled. "And there is nothing to keep us from making more friends as the years pass." When the waitress returned with his tea, Thor thanked her with a kiss to the back of her hand, inspiring blushing and giggles, which the Asgardian seemed oblivious to. "You have but to keep an open mind. You are right, though. Captain Rogers should live a good while for a human. As will Logan."

"I suspect my alliance - albeit a temporary one - with his brother will sit ill with him. Considering the way he treated Agents Barton and Coulson..." Loki looked genuinely pained at the idea. "I indulged him, and they paid for the mistake." He caught sight of the waitress giggling to one of the other servers. "I believe you've already found yourself a new admirer." When Thor looked genuinely confused, Loki cast his eyes to the girl and then smiled faintly. "She is rather taken with you." He wondered if the girl knew who Thor was or if she simply enjoyed his odd mannerisms and lovely face.

"I..." Thor glanced over to the girl in question, and then smiled faintly at his brother. "It requires only a bit of grace. I feel that you would make a great deal more headway with anyone you wished to charm, brother. You are certainly far better with words than I, and no less pleasant to look at." Perhaps Loki wasn't as eye-catching walking down the street, but he was all grace and charm, and Thor at least had a difficult time not sneaking glances at his brother. If there was anything in the way of Loki truly winning such attentions for himself, it was only his view of them as potential slaves instead of equals. Short-lived, smaller, weaker equals. But equals nonetheless.

The flattery was enough to draw out a smile, and Loki inclined his head in silent acceptance. "I think she would prefer your company... and I confess that I have no interest in hers. There are many fair women in the world, but none of them hold particular sway for me." He had tried, once or twice, curious to see what the fuss was about. While he had no difficulty appreciating the view and admiring a woman's body, the reality of being with one was less than exciting. "The idea of company is not one I am adverse to, however. I think perhaps a bit of a change to match my new wardrobe. Do you know of a barber close by?" While there was little he could do apart from glamour to warm his pale complexion - and he was little inclined to bother - Loki could see rather easily that a change of hairstyle would go a long way toward making him look a bit more like one of the local population.

"I do not, brother, but..." He drew the cell phone Stark had insisted on him having from his pocket. "The humans have primitive technology, but it serves its purpose." A few moments, and he'd located a decently rated hair stylist. He managed to pay their check and extract himself from the waitress without too much difficulty, and he had them on their way to the barber shop soon enough. He wondered absently what sort of hair style Loki had in mind. Obviously, Loki could have simply used his skills to project the illusion of whatever appearance he desired, but his brother seemed to want a far more substantial change. //Perhaps he truly intends to embrace this world, after all.//

After a few minutes charming the stylist, Loki had to admit that Thor had a point about his ability to lure the mortals in with honey instead of poison. He could have taken the stylist home. The truth was he simply wanted the man to put in his best work, and the boy was entirely too easy to flirt with. He was pretty, with tanned skin and dark eyes, and he assured Loki that he'd be walking out feeling like a new man. He'd laughed easily, though he knew Thor was the only other person in the room likely to understand the joke. He watched his brother's eyes in the mirror as enough length came off to ease the style. He'd opted, at the stylist's urging, for something with a bit of length. The boy had assured him that his natural curl would kick in with the length gone, and he'd want something to work with. Once the stray hair was brushed away, Loki rose and arched an eyebrow at his brother. "Well? Am I presentable?"

Thor looked at his brother a little longer and harder than was strictly appropriate. The change in looks was definitely an improvement, and Thor found himself nodding a little too eagerly. "You look most dashing, brother," he said, passing the stylist his money and - as he'd been coached by Stark on his last visit - a decent tip. He couldn't help feel simultaneously proud and jealous as the stylist slipped Loki the receipt with an extra phone number on the back, but he said nothing. It was good to see Loki adapting to what might well be his home for a long time so easily. As they left the shop, Thor gave his brother a shy look. "It is good to see you smile so easily," he observed.

Loki was flustered by the words and covered with a laugh. "I have always smiled easily. It simply hasn't always been a true smile." He knew what Thor meant. Sobering slightly, Loki agreed, "This has been the first time that I have felt hope in a long while. This place, the people... it is... I may finally have a chance at having a home where I can be of use. In Asgard... you are Odin's heir. At best I would have been a pale second choice should something have happened to you, never more."

Thor looked away to hide the twinge of pain and guilt the words inspired. Loki was far better at seeing such things than he was at covering them up. "Perhaps," he allowed, remembering the night that Loki had finally demanded more of their relationship than the hurried trysts and surreptitious glances. He wondered if his brother might still want what he'd demanded in the first place: to rule side by side. Deciding it was a question best left unasked for the moment, Thor agreed, "You would certainly be a boon to these people, should you fight with the Avengers. You have strengths they could benefit from."

"I hope so," Loki answered. He knew that if he proved not to be of use that he would likely be set aside yet again. It was not a possibility he relished. As they strolled through the pleasant, breezy day, he tried to picture a life that involved being truly a part of the flow of the tower. "The real question is how do I convince Barton and Coulson that I may be worth the trouble. They have more reason than any to loathe me, and they clearly do. I know not how to make amends for killing a man or for leaving them in the hands of a creature such as Creed."

Thor frowned as he thought on the question. "It may not be possible to make amends with them, brother," he said gently. "Or it may take many years." He looked over at Loki. "You have much to make up for, brother, and I suspect that your actions will do more to that end than your words. If you fight alongside the Avengers, I suspect they will learn to trust you. Slowly, and perhaps not all of them. But enough of them." He didn't want to make false promises, but he did feel optimistic at least. "Still, brother, I am willing to offer you my trust. The others will eventually," he said with a smile.

"That," Loki allowed quietly, "is far more than I deserve." He was enjoying the rambling walk and seeing so much of the place which would become his home if all went well. "I will do all that I can to earn that trust - yours as well. Perhaps in time they'll feel generous enough to at least let us share a room which allows us each to have a comfortable place to sleep." Loki smiled regretfully. "We could take turns, but I think we are far past a place where it would be appropriate to share the bed." He trusted his own willpower only to a point. If he woke next to Thor, Loki knew better than to think that he could control himself. "What if your Jane were to visit? I believe the two of you might require at least a bit of privacy."

Thor hadn't covered entirely the slight jerk of his shoulders at the mention of them sharing a bed. "I am... sure that Tony Stark would be kind enough to provide us with... accommodations," he said haltingly, swallowing hard as they wandered into a nearby park. "And I am fine on the couch. You should have your privacy. I am sure that you have not had much of that recently." Loki had experienced no such luxury during his captivity, and he doubted his brother had gotten all he'd have liked in his hideout.

"No, I suppose not," Loki answered, though he was surprised at Thor's easy insistence. He supposed that had much to do with his obvious discomfort at the mention of them sharing a bed. "It's still something that you want no one to know. Even after all this time, all that's happened... you would rather the world know you have a brother who tried to enslave the earth than a lover who you once thought was your brother."

"I said no such thing." Loki's words pained him to such an extent that he couldn't hide it, though. The idea that their parents might learn of it still terrified him, but the idea of how much he'd hurt Loki was worse. The ache he still felt when he looked at his brother hurt more than anything. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side before he finally gave up fighting the urge and rested his hand on Loki's forearm. "Brother... Loki. I regret that I hurt you. I was callous, young, and foolish. Perhaps I am as much to blame for the path you trod as you. I am sorry, and I still..." He cut himself off. It was a confession that would likely only hurt his brother more. It seemed unfair and unwise to ask for what he wanted just then. "I suppose you are not the only one who needs to make amends."

The touch of Thor's hand did more to his defenses than the words. Loki supposed his brother had a point about actions speaking far more clearly. He wanted to turn and throw himself into Thor's arms then and there, but that was a foolish moment of fancy. Loki tilted his head and watched Thor's face darken with guilt. "You have no apologies to make to me, brother. Whatever damage you did to my heart is long ago. I have given you the pain back a thousand times over." He reached over hesitantly, and his fingers closed over Thor's for a moment. "I have been cruel to you as both family and friend, but you should know that once... once I would have done anything for you, brother."

 

"Once." Thor echoed the word softly, and the fact that Loki's skin was cooler than his own didn't seem to stop the touch to his hand from burning. "Brother, I pray that we may one day feel such loyalty to one another again," he said. It was the closest he dared to get to saying what he really felt. There was a reason he hadn't sought Jane upon his return to Midgard, and it had nothing to do with not wanting to hurt her. "I am not foolish enough to think that the pain I inflicted on you is gone. I hear it in your every word, see it in your every glance, brother. You may not wish to show it to me, but I know you far too well," he said quietly.

Loki considered protesting but finally nodded, slow and quiet. "Then you know enough to realize that I loved you more than my own life." He had no idea why he was saying such things while walking down a street in view of everyone who cared to listen, why he suddenly felt the urge to talk about the thing they had spent so long not discussing. Speaking to Stark had opened the floodgates somehow, and they could not be closed again, at least not yet. "I was ready to give you everything. I gave you everything that I had at the time. It has been... finding a way to take some of that back has been difficult. Perhaps I've finally found my heart again."

Thor hadn't missed the use of past tense. //Loved.// "I had not... I had not realized that it was so strong," he said quietly, looking more ashamed than anything at the revelation. "I did a terrible thing, then. I... I knew I had hurt you, but I did not know how badly." They walked a short ways more before Thor managed to gather the nerve to ask, "And now that you have found your heart, brother... what will you do with it?"

Loki looked away, watching the street and the people because he couldn't look at Thor. "Find it a new home." He knew that what they'd had was gone. It was done. They both had their roles to play. Even if Thor did, by some miracle, change his mind, the people of Asgard would never trust him to sit by their future king's side. Any chance of that he'd burned away himself with his actions, with the hurt and the anger and the pain he'd unleashed on the world. That door was closed, and there was no point in wondering what was through it.

Thor swallowed hard and nodded. "Of... course, brother," he agreed, forcing cheer into his voice and expression. "You will, I have no doubt." He knew it had been foolish to hope for another answer. That made it hurt no less, and Thor's mind raced to find a different topic. "You seem off to a good start, at any rate." He took several more steps before he finally suggested, "Perhaps we should return to the tower?" He needed a moment to collect himself, and it seemed like a good idea to have a moment away from Loki before their movie night appointment, anyway.

"Yes, that sounds excellent." When they returned, Thor disappeared into the bedroom, and Loki turned back to the tablet, thumbing through data and reading articles and snippets of books and anything else to give him a feel for Midgard. He'd only looked to it as a place to conquer before, so seeing it as a home was something else.


	2. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team has movie night and almost everyone is wildly uncomfortable.

He lost all track of time until Jarvis quietly reminded them that it was time to go downstairs to enjoy the gathering. Loki steeled himself for the awkward evening that was to come. True to his suspicions, there were definitely some faces missing from the crowd as everyone gathered. He took a seat on one of the far couches clustered around the massive screen and tried not to look as strained as he felt.

Jemma had arrived early and made a few batches of popcorn, so there were bowls of it strewn randomly across the end and coffee tables along with a couple of coolers with soda and beer. Giving up all pretense of propriety, she took a microbrew for herself and settled in to wait. It was with desperate relief that she saw Bruce and a few others trickling in before Loki. Logan and Scott curled up on a loveseat together, and she gave them a friendly wave while Fitz crashed on the couch on the other side of her. Loki and Thor were among the last to arrive. "I like your hair. It's a nice change," she offered politely, wondering if that was the sort of thing you were supposed to say to someone who'd been trying to kill your teammates and posing as a god a day or two earlier.

Loki looked startled at being addressed at all. "Thank you, Dr. Simmons."

"Jemma. That's... Jemma is fine."

He inclined his head, accepting the information and wondering whether she was actually that friendly or if Bruce had put her up to it in an attempt at team building. The sentiment was appreciated either way.

Melinda May stepped into the room last, her hand wrapped around Ward's elbow. "He tried to tell me he had other plans." She shoved Ward toward the couch on which Loki sat. She smiled sweetly at him and took a seat on the couch with Tony and Steve. "Obviously, this is far more important."

Bruce made a point of settling in close to Jemma, ignoring the glare he got from Fitz when he threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her a little closer. It was definitely a forward move, but he felt entitled to being a touch brazen after the week they'd had. He had a beer in his other hand, and he was damn well going to enjoy movie night, gods of mischief and possibly jealous lab partners or no. He was glad that Jemma was offering an olive branch to Loki; he had an ugly feeling that few of them would.

Logan smirked in amusement as the two agents dragged in late and May shoved the tall, lanky guy towards Loki. He didn't recognize the man, but he was obviously an acquaintance of May's. Settled on the couch next to Loki, Logan couldn't help but reflect how the two looked appropriate together, both clearly uncomfortable in the social situation, and both impossibly tall.

Ward looked a little skeptical as he settled next to Loki, and he stared at the Asgardian intensely, clearly fascinated... and a little nervous. From everything Ward had read, Loki was in a league of his own when it came to his people. Seeing him sitting on a couch in a movie room in civilian clothing with a regular haircut was at once fascinating and strange. And vaguely terrifying. "So, uh... Welcome to the team," he said quietly, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that the Avengers had even invited Loki in.

Though he looked somewhat startled by the words, not to mention the company, Loki inclined his head. "Thank you. I don't believe we've been officially introduced." He held a hand out toward the man.

"He's the one who helped pull Coulson and Barton out after they were dropped in the middle of New Mexico," May's voice cut in.

Loki's gaze snapped to her, and he read the anger there, the measured fury that told him she would waste absolutely no time talking if the situation changed. Even without a mystical hammer or the Hulk's strength, Loki found himself wondering if she could do him in just the same. "Ah. Of course." He didn't withdraw the hand, hoping that the man would be willing to at least hold up the pretense of politeness despite the situation. 

The tension of the moment wasn't lost on Steve, though he didn't interfere. If Loki wanted to be part of the group, he'd have more than a few of such awkward encounters ahead. His arm tightened slightly around Tony's waist and he reminded himself that part of being a good leader was putting up with the people in his charge, even the ones he wasn't fond of. Loki was, for now, part of their group.

Tony smiled up at his lover, having no trouble following the man's train of thought. "It'll be okay," he whispered gently, stretching up to press a kiss to the man's chin. "No one's smashed anything yet. And if they do, I can buy a new one."

Ward did his best not to roll his eyes. May definitely had a way with people. Not that he was much better. But Loki... well, he seemed worth getting to know. "I'm also sometimes known as Grant Ward. Or just Ward," he said, taking the Asgardian's hand. Loki's skin was oddly cool, and Ward wondered if that meant Loki was nervous or if he was just that way by default. "You'll have to forgive Agent May. She's... not exactly our negotiator."

Logan smirked at the exchange in spite of the grim truths behind it all. He couldn't help but appreciate May's anger towards Loki as much as Ward's wry observation about her. Not that Ward seemed that much more friendly, really. Logan was pretty sure that he'd seen only slightly more emotion from the long-bodied agent as he had from May.

Thor, settled in the one armchair in the room, watched May and Ward closely. May struck him as a strong warrior, and Ward as no less powerful, at least in human terms. And May was certainly lovely, for all her distant stare. The god started to flirt a little, then decided it might be a little untoward, considering his friends no doubt expected him to still be faithful toward Jane. Bruce had Jarvis start the movie a moment later, and that more or less silenced any such ideas as Thor settled back in his chair and focused on the film.

Though the movie was surprisingly enchanting, Loki found his attention straying to the group around them. Stark was tucked in carefully against Steve, the soldier holding him tightly as if afraid he might slip away. It was at once heartwarming and frustrating, and he let his gaze wander. Though Fitz had been tight with tension at first, as the movie played on, Loki watched the blond holding out one of the bowls of popcorn to Bruce and Jemma, who were unmistakably cuddling next to him. They had both been above and beyond kind to him between the invitation and the kind words, and he smiled at the sight of their apparent comfort. 

Scott was watching too, unable to puzzle out how he felt. He supposed he should have been furious at Loki for toying with his mind, and he was, but there was gratitude tangled up in the anger. Thanks to Loki, he could see the world without a wash of red coloring it and make love to Logan with no visual barriers between them. He finally gave up thinking about it and leaned his head against Logan's shoulder. 

Despite the her harsh words, May seemed utterly relaxed. The anger had been real, but the god's response had passed whatever test had been attached to it. She sat on the couch, legs curled beneath her, and still somehow managed to look utterly life-threatening in her jeans and t-shirt.

Finally Loki's gaze settled on Ward. He was unmistakably attractive, dark hair and eyes and strong jawline. His fearless greeting in the face of May's aggression had earned him some brownie points as well. Loki wondered if any overtures on his part would be worth making. Friendships were worth cultivating, but he had other needs as well, and it had been some time since he had the luxury of choosing a partner at his leisure instead of taking any port in the storm.

Ward kept most of his attention on the movie, though he wasn't oblivious to Loki's wandering attention. The god was still obviously assessing the team on some level, though it didn't seem hostile. The agent tuned in more directly to the movie for awhile until he felt the weight of Loki's gaze on him. He slowly turned his eyes and then his head toward the Asgardian, leaning back in his seat as if to make sure Loki wasn't just trying to see past him to the TV. When Loki seemed to stay focused on him, he raised an eyebrow. "Uh, you know, I'm flattered - I guess - that you're so fascinated with me, but I'm really painfully aware of the fact that you could probably break me in half without a lot of effort, so the staring is freaking me out a little." In spite of the words, Ward's voice was completely level, kept low to avoid interfering with the movie. Still, he definitely knew now how a mouse felt when it caught the cat's attention. He couldn't help but wonder, "Should I be worried?"

It was no small amusements to see someone so obviously used to being in control visibly nervous simply because he'd been staring a little too long. "Forgive me. I... you are rather pleasant to look at," Loki finally admitted with a casual shrug. He spoke softly and wondered if the others could overhear, if they would care if they did. He would have been lying if he said that he didn't like the idea of Thor being a bit jealous at the obvious flirtation. "I'll try to keep my attention on the film, however. I don't mean to make you nervous, Agent Ward."

Ward looked genuinely surprised, an expression that didn't often find its way to his face. He looked at Loki in a decidedly different light, his eyes tracing the Asgardian's face. Loki was definitely a lot less rugged than he would have expected in light of Thor’s appearance, and he actually looked pretty damned nice with his hair trimmed short and crystal blue eyes shimmering in the dim light from the movie. "Pleasant to look at, huh?" he echoed thoughtfully, eyes glimmering with amusement. "In that case, I guess I can forgive a little bit of staring."   
It was honestly a more promising answer than he'd hoped for. Loki's lips twitched up into a smile. For awhile, he kept his focus on the screen since he had given his word, but he couldn't help letting his gaze wander. Ward really was pleasant to look at. Loki always had enjoyed strong men, and Ward held a restrained power as if he could flip over the couch and break someone's neck at any moment. //And what good have such attractions done me in the past?// It didn't much matter. While being attracted to someone a bit more reserved like Fitz likely would have been a better for him, his attention was already captured. He moved in just a bit closer to insure that the conversation remained private. "It's good that you don't mind terribly. I find it rather difficult to stop watching you."

Jemma picked up on the murmured conversation, though she couldn't quite hear the specifics over the sound of orcs screaming onscreen. She cast a nervous glance at Bruce and then decided it wasn't their problem. Loki needed to learn to fend for himself, and she wanted to focus on the man next to her. With that in mind, she finished off her beer, setting the bottle on the table before resting her head against Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce couldn't help but grin at the gesture, tilting his head to rest his cheek lightly against Jemma's hair, his arm sliding around her waist as he held her close. The warm weight of her against his side was comforting, and Fitz seemed to have calmed down, so it was overall rather pleasant. He hadn't missed the fact that Loki seemed to have taken an unusually focused interest in Ward. Ward seemed an unlikely place for anyone to start making friends, but Bruce supposed that Ward had the least reason to want Loki dead, which made him all in all a decent place to start.

Ward was grateful for the relatively dim lighting, because he was pretty sure that a flush of color was creeping up his neck, especially with Loki leaning in close enough that he could feel the Asgardian's body heat. "I noticed. You're not too hard on the eyes, yourself," the agent returned easily, though he felt anything but relaxed. He'd managed to get his poker face back into place, but it was still a little intimidating being on the receiving end of such a powerful creature's interest.

Halfway across the room, Thor hadn't missed his brother edging closer to the mortal, and he raised an eyebrow. While he'd certainly encouraged Loki to reach out, even to flirt, Thor was surprised to see him doing so within the team. He also couldn't quite help the edge of jealousy he felt, though Loki had made it clear that they were through.

"Perhaps we could make time to get to know one another better, then," Loki suggested smoothly. The interest was mutual, and he saw no reason not to indulge. It might even help him to edge Thor out of his thoughts again. If they were going to make a real go at being friends, he couldn't let himself start thinking of Thor as a potential stand in for anything else. The lines needed to be clear. Taking Ward to bed would, at the very least, cement that. "I'm free this evening if you are, Agent Ward."

As dearly as Jemma loved the Lord of the Rings trilogy, she found herself more invested in her own story and the warmth and closeness of simply cuddling on the couch. It was better to have Fitz next to them cheering and laughing at the right moments. After a week of upsets that took them all from one end of the spectrum to the other, she genuinely felt safe.

Steve kept his eyes on Loki. It was impossible for him to get off of high alert around the god yet, to be anything but ready for a fight. He tried to make his body relax but had little success as he held Tony fast against him. Finally he ducked his head and breathed in the smell of his lover, the man's sharp aftershave, and bit by bit his muscles loosened until he could be considered at least not in attack mode. "Love you," he murmured against Tony's ear.

"Love you, too," Tony returned. He hadn't missed the tension in his lover, the fact that every one of Steve's perfectly honed muscles was tensed for a fight. He ran his fingers through Steve's hair as the man relaxed slightly against him, kissing the blonde's throat before brushing a gentle kiss to Steve's lips. He knew his lover wouldn't tolerate too much public affection, but Tony wanted to at least distract him a little bit. "He's not going to hurt anyone. If he tries, Thor's right there. Besides, Ward would be the first to go, and he's kind of an asshole."

Steve snorted with laughter at that before stifling it against Tony's throat. "You've got a point." He was grateful to Ward for being part of the extraction team that had brought Coulson and Barton home, but he couldn't say he was the biggest fan of the man's attitude even if he knew it was somewhat unfair of him to hold it against Ward when he didn't against May or Natasha. "I know nothing's going to happen. I just have to convince my brain of that." Steve remained half curled around Tony's body though he finally let his gaze rest on the screen. He'd have to learn to breathe with Loki in the room eventually.

Tony wriggled until he could get his lips close to Steve's ear. "I think what your brain needs is a proper distraction," he decided. He rested his hand on Steve's knee and leaned up to nibble at the blonde's neck, teeth and tongue lightly contacting what he knew to be the most sensitive spots on his lover's throat. As he worked, Tony let the hand on the blonde's knee gradually slide indecently higher.

Steve's breath caught, and he did everything he could to stifle a far less publicly acceptable reaction to Tony working exactly the right spot on his neck. "Tony," he hissed. Cuddling and even a few stray touches and kisses, was one thing, but Tony getting him hard and feeling him up in front of half the team wasn't. His cheeks went pink at the thought. He murmured, "This won't be subtle for long."

Tony smirked. "And when was I last accused of being subtle?" he whispered in return, but he backed off a little. His hand remained in place on Steve's inner thigh, fingers curling against the firm muscle as he settled more intently against the blonde. "You needed a distraction. And some relaxation. I figured I could at least provide one of those."

"You can give me both," Steve agreed, his hand covering Tony's to keep it from moving any higher. He was fairly sure Tony had enough sense not to try to give him a handjob while they were surrounded by the whole team, but he couldn't be sure. It was Tony. "But after we're done, okay?" He glanced around the room but only spotted one person taking any note of them. He just barely caught May's dark gaze at the other end of the couch noting them and then moving on.

Tony smirked. "Course." It was actually amusing to him to think that Steve wasn't one hundred percent sure Tony wouldn't try anything decidedly X-rated in front of the team. He might have while he was drunk, but even Tony had a few inhibitions when he was sober. Still, it was something he was willing to play to a little, just to keep Steve a little off balance. "Afraid I'm gonna give you a BJ in front of everybody?" he purred in the other man's ear.

"Tony," Steve whispered back in a warning tone. He knew that May could probably hear them from the look of open amusement on her face that seemed more than a little out of place with Boromir dying horribly onscreen. "I... no.... maybe... just... later? Definitely later." He found himself glancing curiously over at Loki as if wondering whether the god felt any jealousy about Tony's overt actions. To his surprise, Loki seemed engrossed in whispering to Ward on the other couch.

Tony smirked, chuckling a little. "I'm not gonna do it in front of everyone," he assured with an eye roll. "Way too sober for that." His gaze followed Steve's to Loki and Ward on the couch across the way. The two seemed oddly intent on one another, and Tony wondered if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

 

Ward arched an eyebrow at Loki. "I am interested, but if we're gonna do that, you should probably just call me Ward. Or Grant. 'Agent Ward' makes me feel like I'm in trouble," he said, the glint of humor returning to his eyes. //Sex with an alien? Wonder if there are any SHIELD policies against that. Seems like there should be.// Ward didn't really give a damn, though, and no one else in the room seemed concerned. Fury could yell at him later. Or have Coulson or Barton do it. It was all starting to feel pretty surreal and a little intimidating, but Grant Ward would be damned if he was going to pass up the opportunity.

Loki smiled broadly at the apparent acceptance of his offer. He moved in a bit closer. "Well, Grant, I think that I can certainly manage that." It was easy to see that Ward was still intimidated by him or by the situation, but the man wasn't backing down. Indeed he seemed determined to face everything head on, and that was intriguing. //Brave, bold, possibly a bit stupid,// Loki thought with a smile. //Worth playing with.// "I think that this could be a very enjoyable friendship for the both of us."

Ward smiled, still feeling a tad uneasy, still wondering what he was getting into, but too curious to know the answer to back down. "I think you're right," he agreed. Certainly it wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten himself into an unknown situation. With his hair cut short and curling around his neck and ears, Loki looked oddly soft and inviting. Ward unconsciously licked his lips as he imagined pulling the other man into a kiss, tasting him... //Woah. Woah, okay. Calm down.//

Loki watched the man's gaze flickering down to his lips and then back up to his eyes and couldn't help a slow smile. "I don't think it would be entirely out of place if you'd like to kiss me.... but, then, perhaps we should wait until the film is over. I believe Dr. Banner is attempting to give me a chance to blend in. The least that I can do is stay through the event." He chuckled quietly and added, "I'm not sure I'll be interested in taking my hands off of you again once I've gotten that close."

Ward felt a flush rise to his cheeks, but it had nothing to do with being flustered. "Yeah, we can finish the movie. Don't think I'd be real good at letting go, either." His engine ran hot, and Ward was certainly not the sort to back off once he got started. Climbing in Loki's lap in front of the whole team might not have been conducive to the whole point of the movie night.

Jemma was frowning openly at the pair, uncertain whether Loki and Ward talking was a good thing or a bad thing. "I can't tell if he's making friends or planning to eat Ward's heart," Jemma murmured under her breath.

"Well, no need to worry about that. I don't think he has one," Bruce replied, raising an eyebrow nonetheless. He wasn't sure if he was feeling more protective of Ward or Loki. The specialist had a way of saying things that were just fucking hurtful. Bruce got the feeling that Loki was kind of on a thin wire between feeling accepted and feeling like the nineteenth wheel, and the scientist didn't really want to see how Loki might act if someone managed to really hurt his feelings.

Jemma bit her lip and tried to convince herself that it would be fine. There was no reason that Loki shouldn't make friends - even close, personal friends. He was an adult, probably one older than most of them put together, truth be told, and she knew that they had no right to tell Ward what and who he could do either. "Kind of worries me," she confessed quietly.

"Kind of creeps me out," Fitz agreed with a shrug, "but not our division, yeah? If they want to.... to whatever."

"Yeah. No, I mean, it isn't. Of course it isn't." She glanced at Thor, wondering what he thought of his brother's apparent fascination with the mortal sharing his couch.

Bruce glanced between Fitz and Jemma questioningly. "And it's not against whatever policies you guys have? Cuddling with aliens?" he wanted to know. It seemed like something SHIELD would have had a few words for after the whole New York mess. But then, maybe it hadn't really occurred to the higher ups that anyone in the organization might be considering it.

For his part, Thor was trying his best to ignore the pair. It wasn't difficult to understand what was happening, and it stung. The Asgardian prince took a deep breath and reminded himself it was for the best. He and Loki had no future together. At least, not one that didn't involve Thor abandoning Asgard and his duty as its heir. If Odin would have even allowed it.

Jemma considered that and finally gave a slight shake of her head. "No written policies, no, though.... well, I can't imagine it's encouraged." Personally she was happy to take her chances with Bruce. Cuddling up with someone like Loki sounded dangerous on a whole new level.

"This is Ward, though. Next to May or Romanov... not exactly a nice bloke, is he?" Fitz could understand Loki’s interest on a physical level, but Ward didn’t exactly give off warm fuzzy vibes. 

"No, that he isn't," Jemma agreed. "So maybe they'll get along just fine."

As the credits began to roll, Loki shifted in closer to the mortal who had taken his fancy for the evening. "Now, perhaps we could find somewhere more private to talk?"

It took Steve every bit of self control that he possessed not to hop up immediately and drag Tony off to kiss him senseless. "That was pretty good," he observed loud enough to allow engagement from anyone who cared to chime in.

"One of my favorites, actually," May agreed with the faintest hint of a smile.

Ward had been about to agree that it was the perfect idea when he realized that they were probably expecting Loki to try some socializing. "Yeah, not bad," he agreed grudgingly. He left it to Loki to decide when they should leave. The party was for him, after all. He did glance at the god, though, and quietly add, "Somewhere more private sounds good whenever you're ready."

Thor smiled brightly at Steve. "'T’was an excellent pastime, Captain! I daresay rather heartbreaking, though, to see good Boromir slain," he added with a slightly furrowed brow.

"Good thing it was fiction and not a documentary, then," Tony pointed out, thoroughly plastered to Steve's side. He was ready to drag the man off to a dark corner somewhere, but he knew what Steve was doing. It was pretty big-hearted of the blonde, really, especially considering the circumstances. That didn't mean that Tony didn't want to pout until Steve got them the hell out of there.

"Gets better every time I see it," Bruce chimed in, smirking faintly at Tony's snark.

"We'll have to do this again," Jemma suggested. "The Return of the King is my favorite. I cried my eyes out the first time I saw it."

Fitz rolled his eyes. "Girls."

"You cried more than I did."

The blond blushed and sank a little lower on the couch. "Not more, just-" Fitz subsided at a harsh glare from Jemma. "It was sad."

Knowing he had to play along with the whole situation if he ever wanted a chance at being part of things, Loki diverted his attention from Ward and offered, "It was lovely. I would very much like to see the other films in the series." Jemma was holding out another olive branch, and he was in far too precarious a position to refuse it or the casual banter. However much he wanted to spend a bit of time finding out if Ward's skills matched his brooding good looks, Loki wanted to find a true home even more.

Steve nodded his agreement. "Might be nice to make it a regular thing. Team building. We spend a lot of time fighting together, training, and we should make sure we devote some time to being together too and enjoying all of this."

"We could definitely use some together time. Really close together," Tony muttered, lowering his voice to add, "in much more private places."

Ward was busy smirking as Simmons put Fitz in his place. He had to appreciate that about her, at least. She had a weird sort of practicality to her. He couldn't resist the urge to edge a little closer to Loki, getting near enough to feel the Asgardian's body heat.

"I think that's a great plan. Maybe we can watch the next one in two or three days?" Bruce suggested, then gave Jemma's shoulder a squeeze. "I think some of us might have plans tomorrow night. Italian ones with live music."

Thor was eagerly nodding his agreement almost at once. "A wise plan, Doctor Banner! And perhaps we might have mead next time!"

Bruce looked a little surprised by the request, but smiled and nodded nonetheless. "I'm sure we can find some. Somewhere."

"I certainly have no other pressing plans," Loki offered with a hint of a smile. It was odd to find that Banner was an ally in however shallow a fashion, but not unpleasant. The more of those he could find, the easier it would be to ultimately find a place for himself amongst the group.

"It's a plan." Steve was happy to cement things not just for the sake of team building but because having a wriggling, whispering Tony pressed up against him was becoming a distraction. "I think we're going to call it a night, folks. Jarvis, put movie night on the schedule for all of us on Thursday."

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you." Though he knew that such thanks weren't really needed since he was talking to a computer, Jarvis was far too lifelike in his voice and inflections to stay the impulse for politeness. Rising, he offered Tony his hand. "Get some rest, folks. Never know when we'll be back out in it."

May smiled as she stood. "Some of us are never out."

Jemma watched the woman walk away with a slight shake of her head. Melinda May could be in turns the most fascinating and most terrifying woman she'd ever encountered. The idea of getting up was almost painful when it was so warm and comfortable curled up against Bruce's side. "I suppose I should be off to bed."

Rising, Loki inclined his head to Ward. "Shall we?" He wondered if the man would be bothered by their obviously leaving together in front of the group. Ward wasn't part of the Avengers, but the Avengers were part of SHIELD, and he felt sure that Ward had some face to lose in how he chose his company.

Bruce pressed a kiss to the top of her head, sparing a momentary look of concern for Ward. "I think we both should. And then the two of us should definitely have some fantastic Italian food tomorrow night. With music. Assuming we're not having to figure out how to deprogram Ward," he muttered as he watched the two go. He glanced at Thor, then May. "Shouldn't at least one of you be making sure no one gets possessed or dismembered?"

Thor looked uncomfortable. "I... my brother might need his privacy."

Bruce's gaze shifted back to May. SHIELD didn't really know the meaning of that particular word. Especially when it came to its own people.

The woman gave Thor a pointed look. "You've been charged with making sure that your brother behaves himself. You can do it or we will. I can pretty much assure you that our way won't be to your liking." There was no malice in the words. They were a simple statement of fact. If Thor couldn't keep Loki under proper observation, she would kill him to eliminate the problem, whatever that took.

Jemma swallowed and then suggested quietly to Thor, "Maybe you could just... keep a respectful distance without letting him go off alone?"

Thor nodded, standing quickly. He didn't like the idea of being so intrusive, but he definitely didn't want Loki thrown in a cell. Or worse. "I shall see to it that he makes no mischief," he promised.

Bruce watched the man go, then glanced at May. "You really do have a way with people," he observed dryly. He raised an eyebrow. "Lot of nerve, though, more or less threatening to kill Thor's brother right to his face. I feel like it's a good thing he's on our side."

 

May just smiled in response. "It's better for everyone to know where they stand. I could lie to him, but there's no point in it. I don't trust Loki. I probably never will." She made a slight gesture to indicate the few Avengers still left in the room. "You all need to trust each other. You need to find the good in him. That's not my job."

Jemma swallowed hard at the cool words. May made her uneasy on a level few people ever achieved. Even relaxed, the woman radiated a deadly sort of strength. She glanced at Fitz as if he would somehow know better what to say.

He stared desperately back at her. "Well, pretty nice having the together time in any case - even for the rest of us non-super types." He caught sight of May's arched eyebrow and hurriedly added, "Not that you aren't super, just, er, not super... um... powered..."

Bruce smirked. "It's not necessarily a bad thing, not being 'super-powered'," he pointed out, giving Fitz a pointed look. "But Agent May has a point. If we can't get to a point where we can trust Loki, we can't keep him on the team." He frowned. "And then I guess SHIELD puts him out of our misery, whatever that takes."

"Maybe it's awful of me, but I... well, I honestly hope that it doesn't come to anything like that," Jemma answered. It wasn't any particular affection for Loki, but she could see that he was in a strange situation with strange people. He was far enough out on a limb that she felt sure he'd climbed out to escape something fairly horrible, and she didn't want to send him back to it or to a worse fate.

She was surprised when May quietly agreed, "Neither do I."

"What?"

The woman's gaze softened slightly. "I do my job. I protect my organization, my country, my world if need be. I kill when I have to. That doesn't mean I enjoy it."

Bruce didn't look as surprised. "I get it." When all eyes turned to him, he shrugged. "You think I like letting the big guy off the chain? I wouldn't still be with the Avengers, out in the field with them, if I didn't feel like it was something that just... had to be done sometimes." He smirked. "There are matters that are bigger than me. Or the other guy. Point is, I get it."

May gave him a nod of appreciation and even more rare hint of a smile before unfolding herself from the couch. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

Jemma watched her go and noted that Fitz had risen too. She reluctantly pulled herself away from Bruce's side and stood. She gave Fitz a warm smile. "See you in the morning?"

He took the hint even though he didn't look happy about it, "Sweet dreams."

It did her heart good to see that even though he didn't like it, Fitz was more willing to trust her instincts when it came to Bruce. Almost shyly, she held a hand out to to the man in question. "Walk me to my room?"

Bruce smiled, nodding a little as the other two shuffled off to elsewhere. He hadn't missed the look of disapproval creeping back into Fitz's expression and couldn't help an internal sigh. //Guess I'm going to be dealing with that for a while after all,// he reflected as he took Jemma's hand. "It was a nice evening," he decided, looking pleased. "Got to cuddle up with you, plus Loki and Thor sat in the same room together and no one broke anything. Or anyone."

"That's the bit I'm particularly heartened by," she agreed with a wry smile. They'd all expected the worst on some level. They'd expected things to spiral out of control and stay there. Instead it had gone... well, it hadn't been that bad. Awkward at times, but not terrible. "I'm not sure at the moment if I'm more worried about Loki or Ward." She wasn't sure it was entirely a good idea for someone in Loki's emotionally unstable state to attach themselves to someone with Ward's particular reputation. On the other hand, forging connections outside of Thor and a vague alliance with Stark could be helpful. "I suppose we'll see how much is left of either of the in the morning. Fury won't be pleased if he needs to start training a new specialist."

"Or pay for talk therapy for Loki," Bruce added with a faint smile as he pictured the Asgardian in full robes perched on a therapist's couch. "I feel like Ward's going to end up with broken bones and Loki's going to need a hug." He shook his head. It still seemed surreal, that Ward had taken about an apparent ten minutes to get into a god's pants. Then again, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. Bruce cocked his head thoughtfully. "Wonder how Thor's handling it? Maybe I should've gotten him some earplugs."

Jemma winced. "It has to be awkward... the close space... with his brother?" She wrinkled her nose. "It was like the time I went over to Fitz' room junior year and- well, some things you can never un-see." The young woman looked more than slightly shell-shocked, but she shrugged it off as they took to their feet and headed toward her room. "Hopefully they'll manage to still be able to make nice in the morning."

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle a little at Jemma's story about Fitz, though he tried to stifle it in consideration of her obvious discomfort. "I'm sure they'll manage. If making nice is in the cards for them anytime soon. They weren't exactly making me see family portrait Christmas cards in their future anytime soon." He looked askance at Jemma, smirking wryly. "So, Fitz, in junior year? I wouldn't have... Not that I'm the definition of 'smooth', but I'm having trouble imagining him dating someone."

Jemma smiled faintly at that. "Well, it's... neither of us may be the traditional idea of perfection," she allowed with a hint of a smile, "but Fitz and I were actually both rather popular at school. We were the youngest people admitted to the program and we both got our fair share of attention. I don't mean to- oh, that sounds... that sounds terrible, doesn't it? I didn't date just anyone, it was nothing like... but, that is... I should stop talking entirely, shouldn't I?"

Bruce couldn't help getting a good laugh at that. "I don't... Well, I'm not taking it in all the horrible ways you're thinking, but if you keep digging, I might start," he admitted with a grin. He shook his head a moment later, sobering a little. "And I wasn't thinking so much that Fitz wouldn't be appealing to some folks... Just... well, I'm not judging, as it took me awhile to come into my own, but he does seem a little awkward." //Putting it nicely.// He'd seen Skye come floating into the lab once or twice, and the way Fitz had looked ready to swallow his tongue not just a few times as a result.

Simmons nodded along with the idea, "Yes, well, this place is not... we were popular at the Academy." She thought for a moment before explaining further, "Around people like us - all three of us, really - Fitz and I were rather popular. Around people like Agent May and Agent Ward and Captain Rogers, we tend to blend into the scenery a bit. I think he's taken the change in status a bit hard." She winced in sympathy. It had been a bit of a shift for her as well, going from being half famous on campus to being no one of particular standing in a horde of other SHIELD agents that were mostly tasked with keeping up with the Avengers. "He'll find his footing."

Bruce nodded. "Well, that's fair. I guess all three of us are a little out of our element." He smiled ruefully when Jemma looked at him questioningly. "I know, I'm supposed to be one of the superstars, but we both know it's not exactly my idea of fun. I don't think I'd mind blending in a little more." He shrugged a little, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. "Though I suppose there are some pretty major perks to it all," he added quietly.

"I might have noticed one or two of those myself," Jemma answered with a shy smile. For all his protestations, Bruce certainly had some moves when he put his mind to it - certainly enough to sweep her rather thoroughly off her feet. "I certainly don't mean to make it sound as if it's a bad choice. I'd do the very same thing again. I'm sure that we could do good anywhere, but here is something special." She stepped in closer, her fingers remaining tangled with Bruce's as they came to a stop just outside her room. "I wouldn't give it up."

Bruce couldn't help the big grin that spread across his face. "Yeah, I don't think I would, either," he agreed, pulling Jemma closer to him, gaze still locked with hers. "I think I made the right call when I let Romanov drag me into all this. Especially right now." His hand slid to the small of her back, dark eyes watching hers as he leaned in, pressing a gentle but insistent kiss to her lips.

Jemma leaned into the embrace and felt her whole body light up with the sensation, with the touch of his lips. It had been a long time since anyone made her toes curl with such a simple gesture. It seemed like a good sign. It felt like a good sign. For a moment she considered giving up on her general policy of not putting out so quickly, but ultimately Jemma ended the kiss first. She took a breath and let a smile light her face up from the inside out. "Try that again on our next movie night. Maybe you won't have such a long walk to get to bed."

Bruce smiled. While he would've gladly gone further, he definitely appreciated Jemma's restraint. "I'll plan on it, then," he said with a smile. "Meantime, I still owe you an Italian dinner date." He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. "See you in the lab tomorrow." With that, he gave her a wink and turned to leave, glancing back over his shoulder a few times at her before he rounded the corner towards his own room.


	3. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ward and Loki spend some quality time together, and Thor is less than pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Ward and Loki. We sort of skipped the part where Ward pretended to be a really nice guy in our universe here. He's kind of sexy when he's a jerk, so... 
> 
> Also, warning for Thorki afterward if you happen to be sensitive to pseudo incest.

Ward felt a flutter of nervousness which he managed to hide well enough as he rose to follow Loki out of the room. He caught Thor glaring at him disapprovingly, and Bruce wasn't looking so sure about the whole thing either. Unwilling to let peer pressure put him off of a potential good time, he gave Loki a faint smile. "I think we could maybe go to my suite, unless you wanted to go somewhere else?"

Loki didn't catch anything that was being said on the other side of the room, but he read his brother's tense posture and the look on the others' faces. "I am afraid that one of the conditions of my joining up with the team on this probationary excursion is that my brother keeps watch over me. I'm sure he would be happy to come along, but if you prefer, I'm sharing a suite with him, and he's currently insisted that I take the bed in any case." The situation was far from ideal, but Ward didn't seem the sort of man to be easily put off either.

Ward had opened his mouth to allow that Thor could come along if he stayed on the couch when the blonde walked over to them. "Please tell me you're not the chaperone," he said, rolling his eyes. "I feel like it's gonna be a little weird with him sitting on the armchair while you hover over me on the couch."

Thor shook his head, looking oddly uncomfortable. "I will stay on the couch. I have already offered my brother the bedroom, and..." He took a deep breath. "And he is welcome to have whatever guests he would care to."

//Thank god this place has solid doors,// Ward thought, but kept it to himself. "Alright." He glanced at Loki as if wondering if his would-be partner for the evening was still game considering the circumstances. "Works for me."

"Thank you, brother. That is most kind," Loki answered smoothly before looking to Ward, a clear challenge in his bright eyes and a smile on his lips. Ward might say no to a situation he found less than ideal, but he seemed unlikely to let anyone think he was too scared to proceed. "I realize that my brother is rather intimidating, but I assure you we will have ample space to ourselves."

Ward nodded, following the two Asgardians as they moved. In truth, they were both intimidating as hell. Each on his own would have been terrifying. Ward was just relieved that at least Thor was a known friendly. He was hoping that Loki wasn't planning anything sneaky but was too intrigued by the potential to have the sense to turn tail and run.

When they got to Thor's suite, the blonde urged them to take their privacy, and Ward didn't waste any time in ducking into the bedroom. He turned toward Loki, looking unsure of just how the god expected things to go.

Ward's hesitation was almost charming. Almost. "You are going to have to stop watching me as if I intend to eat you, Grant." Loki took a few steps closer, not quite in the man's personal space but coming close. "We can simply talk if you prefer it, but I feel fairly certain that taking a man to your bedroom when the two of you are barely introduced means the same thing here as it does in Asgard. Talking isn't really what either of us wants, is it?"

Ward quirked a faint smile. "Fair enough," he said, forcing himself to relax. He drew closer to the god, trying to remember not to think of Loki as such, and slid his hands over hips only a little slimmer than his own. Tall as he was, Ward still had to stretch up a little to capture his partner's lips. The kiss was exploratory, insistent but not quite demanding as he pressed in closer. "I'm not much of a talker, anyway."

"I am," Loki returned, "but I think you'll find that there are many uses for a silver tongue." He smiled faintly and then leaned in again, his lips barely brushing Ward's, a taste of what was to come. Only when he felt the breath against his mouth, a soft exhalation as Ward waited, did Loki give in and press the advantage a bit harder. His lips parted against the man's in silent invitation. If Ward was too uncertain to take the lead without prompting, he was happy to give it.

The god's lips yielding under his own was enough to finally spur Ward to action. His hands slid up from Loki's lean hips and under his shirt, and Ward was surprised to find the Asgardian's build to be solid in spite of his apparently lean frame. //Well, he is a god, after all.// His tongue delved into Loki's mouth, hesitant only for a moment before instinct overrode any sort of self preservation. Ward's breath hissed through his nostrils as he felt his pulse spike, his fingers curling against Loki's skin. The god felt perfect against him, enticing and predatory and almost surreal, and Grant couldn't find it in himself to be more afraid than he was intrigued.

Ward was all feral intent and blinding heat, and that was precisely what Loki needed. He melted against the warm body offered up so eagerly. It apparently took only the slightest of hints to point Ward in the right direction, a fact he filed carefully away with the intent to use freely later if there happened to be a later. They might never look at one another again. The thought didn't trouble Loki overmuch. Apart from the potential for another ally and the possibility of a night of fun - and perhaps a show for his brother - Ward meant little to him. "Tell me, Grant," he purred against the mortal's ear, thigh sliding between Ward's, "what do you enjoy?"

The velvet purr in his ear and the lean thigh pressed against his cock was enough to steal any sort of coherent thought for several moments. That didn't stop him from rocking his hips against the proffered leg as his hands closed once more on Loki's hips. "That's a pretty long list," he finally managed to rasp against his partner's ear. He nipped at the god's neck. "I like a challenge, and I don't mind a little pain, if that helps." He ran his hand up into short, dark curls, pulling Loki's head aside so he could lick and suck at the god's neck. He knew it was bold, but he hoped Loki wouldn't break him for it. "Not too picky about who's on top, though. I like both roles."

Loki arched into the contact, hungrier than he'd realized for the feeling of being wanted on his own merits. Ward wasn't desperate or adrift. He was simply intrigued and perhaps a bit naive about what he'd gotten himself into. Loki smiled faintly at the thought. "Since you seem eager enough to take charge, I think I may be inspired to let you." He drew back as much as the man's grip allowed, pale gaze fixed intently on Ward's flushed face and bright eyes. "It will be interesting to see whether you make the concession worth my while."

"No pressure, hm?" Ward returned, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He knew Asgardians lived incomprehensibly long lives, and the idea that he'd be able to do something that'd have half a chance of truly impressing Loki seemed pretty laughable. Still, Grant Ward wasn't the sort to shy away from a challenge. Dark eyes glittered in dim light as he held Loki's ice blue gaze for a moment before dragging the god into a rough kiss, one hand tugging artlessly at the buttons of his partner's shirt. He managed to work the garment open, and eager fingers trailed down over Loki's chest. While not possessed of the obvious, powerful bulk of his brother, Loki was solid, almost serpentine in his build, and Grant could feel the power in his form. The agent pulled Loki's hips tight against his own, half-moaning and half-growling his arousal.

In a less heady moment, Loki might have made a snarky comment about Ward's lack of finesse. As it was, he really just wanted the man to keep going. It took seconds for Loki to free himself from his shirt entirely. It fell forgotten to the ground. Something told him that Stark had some sort of laundry service to take care of such things. If not, he'd worry about it later. The possibility of solid distraction was too enticing to let anything get in the way. Long, slim fingers fell down to clutch at Ward's hips, his own canting against them. "I suppose I don't really need to ask if you like what you see."

"No, you don't," Grant agreed, his eyes roaming eagerly over Loki's form, hands following in the wake of his gaze. "But I'd be more than happy to let you know you're fucking gorgeous, if you hadn't noticed." His voice had turned to a low, rumbling growl, and fiercely predatory eyes drifted up to the god's face as his hand slid behind into dark curls, dragging Loki into another hard kiss. He didn't get the impression that the Asgardian wanted to be coddled in any sense, and Grant had no interest in doing so. The mortal's fingers hooked over Loki's belt as their hips slid enticingly together, and he groaned low in the back of his throat as his hands moved to grip his partner's ass possessively.

Loki groaned into the man's mouth and allowed himself to be dragged in tightly against Ward's body. His breath caught at the renewed contact and the firm feeling of the man's body aligned with his own. Lips parted, his tongue darted forward to taste the faintest hint of salt from the popcorn still clinging to Ward's mouth. His own fingers tangled in the hem of Ward's shirt, and he tugged, a silent signal that the offending fabric needed to go elsewhere. It was easy to feel the hard lines of muscle beneath the shirt, and Loki wanted a better look at his chosen company for the evening.

Ward shifted back just enough to tug the buttons of his shirt open. Chest bared, he couldn't resist pulling Loki in for a few more hungry kisses before forcing another brief separation on himself to shrug the black fabric to the floor. He gave Loki a moment to absorb what Grant knew was a nice view before molding himself to the Asgardian's body once again. Strong, scarred fingers started tugging at Loki's belt, pulling it loose and tossing it aside before the agent slowed his movements a little, trailing his fingertips over lean abdominal lines and dipping them teasingly into painfully low-slung jeans. "God, you're perfect," he growled, somehow sounding awed for all the arousal in his voice.

There was a faint smile on Loki's lips. "Well, it's lovely to know that someone noticed." He threaded his fingers into Ward's hair and used the man's distraction to jerk him into a punishing kiss. The agent was all alpha male beauty, and it left Loki wanting to be thrown down on the bed and fucked until he stopped wanting to call someone else's name. He wasn't sure that anyone would ever permanently dissuade him from Thor no matter how badly he might have liked them to. At least Ward had thorough potential to be temporarily distracting. His own hand covered Ward's, urging it lower, pressing until the man's fingers slid down to cover his arousal. "I think we may have reached the point where pants are somewhat constricting, yes?"

The feel of the insistent bulge underneath his fingers was enough to send another thrill through Ward, and he groaned softly, his lips barely touching Loki's as he nodded his agreement. His fingers traced the outline of the burgeoning arousal, stroking teasingly over the swell before sliding back up to unfasten the jeans. With odd near-reverence, Grant slid his hands to Loki's narrow hips and slowly leveraged the jeans down. The expression that passed over his face made it clear he appreciated what was revealed, and his hand wrapped around Loki's pulsing shaft. It was an interesting game. Loki clearly intended for Ward to take control but also had no compunctions about making his wishes clear or doing a little hair-pulling. Pleased with the contrasts, Ward stepped forward a bit, urging Loki back towards the bed and stopping only when the back of the god's legs hit the mattress. Fearlessly and gaining confidence with each passing moment, Grant caught Loki by the jaw and pulled him into another rough kiss. "You usually let mere mortals shove you down on a mattress and fuck your brains out? 'Cause that's what seems to be happening."

"It isn't happening yet," Loki countered with a smirk, "but, no. You should certainly consider yourself lucky. I try to be relatively discerning with my partners." He had been so discerning that before his rather questionable choice to sleep with Victor Creed, he'd been starting to think celibacy was a lifestyle that had, unfortunately, chosen him. Loki sank down onto the mattress and sat looking up at the muscular agent with a glint in his eyes. "Unfortunately being choosy when one has centuries lying ahead of him... well, it can be rather lonely. Do you think you could help with that, Grant?" As he spoke, clever fingers unfastened Ward's fly and drew his pants and underwear down over his hips. The view that greeted him was promising. Certainly the man was not so well endowed as the one likely pacing the living room at that very moment, but his cock was thick and hard, and Loki could hear the man's breath catch as he leaned forward almost enough to take it into his mouth.

"Fuck," Grant murmured, his fingers instinctively tangling in Loki's hair. The strands were silky soft, perfect between Ward's fingers, though he barely noticed, his attention fixed on the beautiful lips so close to his cock. He managed to regain his train of thought a moment later, though, and the agent tugged at Loki's hair. "I could definitely help with that. Especially if I'm so lucky to've gotten chosen," he growled, shifting impatiently as Loki's breath gusted over his aching cock. "If, y'know, you don't mind help me out a little..."

"Hmm, I think I might be amenable to that," Loki agreed, gazing up at Ward for a moment before he parted his lips. He made it slow. He watched Ward fighting for control with every breath as he painstakingly took every last inch of the man into his mouth. Loki tasted the salty tang of arousal on his tongue, noting with pleasure that the first stroke alone had Ward's cock twitching. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who might have gone awhile without proper company. Loki's hands rose to Ward's hips, and he clutched hard at them, wanting to leave bruises that would remind the man of what he'd done the next day.

Ward hissed softly in pain at the bruising grip, but he didn't protest. It was the perfect contrast to the incredible pleasure of Loki's tongue sliding along his aching shaft, and his fingers flexed and relaxed in Loki's dark curls. "Fucking hell, that's perfect," he breathed, his hands coming to rest on Loki's shoulders as his knees trembled a little. His hips jerked against the grip on them, but Loki was more than strong enough to keep him from thrusting into the wet pleasure of the god's mouth, something which actually served to give Grant not just a small thrill. "More... c'mon, please." The words slipped out unbidden. Ward wasn't in the habit of begging partners for anything with a few notable exceptions, but Loki's mouth was quickly destroying whatever self-control Grant had. "Need... need to get good and slick and hard so I can fuck you senseless," he managed, trying to cover his neediness and fairly certain he'd failed utterly.

It was a poor lie, a weak one, but Loki appreciated the effort and the reason. Ward was welcome to save a bit of face, especially when he was putting on such a good show. Loki parted his lips and let him slide all the way in. He paused and then drew off. "You're welcome to set the pace if I'm going too slow." It seemed only fair since he had intimated that he'd let Ward take the lead. He was a man of his word in his own strange way. Loki discouraged further conversation by taking Ward's cock in to the base again and sucking until his cheeks hollowed.

Ward had opened his mouth to answer, but Loki managed to drive nothing but a pathetic whimper of pleasure from his lips. Deep brown eyes watched his cock disappear into the god's mouth, and for a moment anything but need and sensation escaped him. Looking away let him regain control to some extent, though, and he took the moment of clarity to reaffirm his grip on Loki's hair. An odd glint in his depthless eyes and a smirk lightly touching his lips, Ward guided Loki's motions, watching intently as the other man's lips slicked over his cock. He was tempted to simply finish it all like that, to cum down Loki's throat, but he wanted far more than that. With a pained groan, Ward tugged at Loki's hair, trying to pull him away. "S... stop... Mm... Need to fuck you."

Loki's eyes were hooded, and he gave a short nod to assure his consent even as he moved backward on the bed and beckoned Ward to join him. He needed more, ached for more. Just the feeling of Ward's body descending over his own was enough to make him sigh with pleasure. Thankfully any signs of hesitation in the man seemed well and truly gone. Apparently whetting his appetite had been a solid choice on a great many levels. Loki smiled at the thought and dragged Ward into a heated kiss that spoke of want, not romance. "Do it."

Ward groaned, his hand questing aimlessly until he managed to pull the drawer of the nightstand open and retrieve a small bottle of lube from it. He didn't take the time to think about where it had originally come from, instead quickly slicking his fingers. He shifted his weight to one hip, hooking one of Loki's thighs over his hip and reaching around behind the Asgardian to prod at Loki's entrance with slicked fingers. Grant planned to waste little time in preparation, but a cursory job of it at least seemed like a good idea. Maybe Loki could heal quickly, but Ward knew that he wouldn't. As deft fingers worked into Loki's body, Ward pressed a few kisses to his partner's lean-muscled chest, moaning as the other man's body gripped his fingers enticingly. "Fuck, you're tight," he breathed.

Loki noticed Ward going for the lube and tried not to think about who it had been used on before. He wondered if Jane had been in the bed, the pretty little mortal girl his brother was dating without truly being in love with. Forcefully he cut the thoughts off and thrust back against Ward's touch. "I can't imagine that you really mind," he answered with an easy smile. Even with nagging thoughts of Thor's exploits plaguing his thoughts, it was difficult to be too put out with a gorgeous man staring at him like a buffet laid out with all his favorite foods. "Don't worry, I'm sure I can take everything that you have to offer."

"I'd almost be tempted to take that as an insult if you didn't seem pretty pleased with my 'offerings' earlier," Grant replied with a faint smirk. Loki was clearly anxious for more, and the mortal gladly pressed his fingers deeper, looking for that spot that would turn even a god into a gasping, moaning ball of need. He met Loki's eyes fearlessly as his fingers found their mark, still wearing his confident grin. "I’m also too curious to know what kind of sounds you're gonna make when I fuck you to worry too much either way."

Ward's words barely registered on Loki as the man's fingers found precisely the right spot. He gasped and arched off of the bed, all long lines and pale skin. "I'm glad to hear that you're so eager." Loki's eyes flickered closed as Ward's fingers worked to unwind the tension that had held him in knots since he came to Fury asking for asylum. Even the fingers were pleasant, but Loki was impatient for more, impatient to be fucked until he couldn't see straight. "I believe that I'm ready," he groaned in a rough tone. "In fact, I may have to insist... you're rather good at this."

A sharp breath hissed out through Ward's nostrils, and a shiver of pleasure ran up his spine at the low purr of Loki's voice. That sound in and of itself was more than enough to convince the mortal that it was definitely time for more. Withdrawing his hand, Grant pressed Loki firmly down into the mattress and hooked his arm under one of the other man's knees. He met Loki's gaze unflinchingly as he shifted closer, taking his cock in hand. He gave Loki a moment to anticipate, to want, before shifting forward. Loki squeezed him almost painfully tight, and he had to fight to keep the penetration gentle. Then again, Loki seemed the sort to be able to take a little roughness and maybe even welcome it. As he felt his cock settle to the hilt in Loki's tight heat, Grant lunged in for a kiss that was nothing but lust, letting his teeth graze Loki's tongue and tugging none-too-gently at the god's lower lip as he broke away for air. "Fuck, you feel perfect."

Loki's eyes were dark, boring into Ward's without any hint of shame. "As do you," he agreed, waiting only a moment before he began pushing back against the thrusts. The almost-too-much stretch of Ward's cock wasn't enough. He wanted to be so utterly lost in the moment that he forgot everything else. Impatient fingers dug into Ward's hips. "If you don't start really fucking me soon, you won't be staying in control for long. It certainly isn't the time to be shy." Though he knew it was an entirely selfish impulse and thus precisely the sort he should be setting aside, Loki wanted Thor to hear every last moan. Loki's face melted into a smile as he drew Ward down and kissed him hungrily. "You certainly don't have anything you should be hiding."

//That's what you think.// He kept the sentiment to himself. Ward wasn't sure how much control he really had considering the bruising grip on his ass and the way his lips were tingling in the wake of the kiss. He didn't really give a damn, though, more than happy to do as demanded. "Well, wouldn't want you to think I was keeping secrets from you," Grant decided, shifting his hips as if to tease. When the Asgardian's fingers tightened on his ass again, drawing a hiss of pain from him, he couldn't hold back any longer. He began thrusting with abandon, doing his best to angle his hips for that perfect spot inside his partner. He wasn't sure he'd be able to make Loki scream, but he was damn well going to try.

Loki shuddered and bucked against the man's body. Ward could not have forced him into anything, but Loki let go of the reality. He let himself believe what he needed to believe, which was that Ward was in control. He gave himself over to the fantasy, to the remembered pleasure that lay so many years in the past. It was shockingly easy to lose himself and everything but the feeling. Sounds of pleasure were driven from him with each of Ward's punishing thrusts, and their sweat-slicked bodies moved together easily. The rhythm was natural even if they barely knew one another. Soon enough Ward held him on the edge, the perfect balance between pleasure and pain that was nearly too much, and Loki gasped and held on tighter.

Ward groaned in pain as Loki's grip on him tightened to the point of being nearly unbearable. The pain did nothing to dampen his arousal, though, especially when he was so close to the edge. His hips were soon moving of their own accord as he found himself nearing the edge, Loki's tight passage clenched down even harder on his cock and the god's cries of pleasure filled his ears. Loki was beautiful under any circumstances, and lost in the throes of passion he was nothing but exquisite. It all combined to drive Ward over the edge, and he held nothing back, roaring his pleasure as he came, his vision almost whiting out from it all.

Loki didn't bother trying to stem the tide. He screamed his pleasure, carefully keeping the thanks wordless. He knew well enough that if he called a name out, it would not have been Ward's, and the man's skill was notable enough to make him worth that much respect, at least. He came down with gasping breaths and a smile on his lips. For a moment Loki felt genuinely peaceful. He knew they had moments before Ward drew away and went about his business, but for a few beats, Loki let himself pretend that the moment was something sweeter than it ever could be. "Forgive the bruises," he murmured, releasing his grip and soothing his fingertips gently over the reddened skin. "You happen to be far better at that than I anticipated."

Ward winced a little as Loki's fingers released their grip on him and soothed over the bruises, but smirked at the god nonetheless. "Same to ya," he said with a smirk as he shifted away to lay beside the other man, still trying to catch his breath. He raised up a bit to press a slower but no less raw kiss to Loki's mouth, his tongue plundering the hot, wet depths before he finally drew away, still smirking. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he gave Loki a cocky smile. "Think your brother's probably aware how good I am now too." He chuckled softly as he pushed himself up, moving toward the bathroom. He turned the shower on and washed off from the neck down, barely drying off before he padded back into the room. He quirked an eyebrow at Loki. "So, what now? I leave you my phone number so we can have a few repeats, or do we just carve notches in bedposts and move on?"

Having cleaned himself up a bit and pulled on a pair of soft cotton pants, Loki smirked at the suggestion. "I think I would prefer that we repeat the experience. I rather think it would be worth the effort." He plucked his SHIELD-issues Stark Industries phone from the nightstand and passed the tech into Ward's hands. He had picked up on its use with little effort. Already watching Thor hunt and peck at his own phone was a chore. It mystified him how they could ever have thought he was anything but adopted. "Of course you're also welcome to stop by here. They don't let me out without my personal bodyguard. It's restrictive, but I suppose I understand that they're worried I might attempt to take over the world given half a chance."

Ward quickly put his number into Loki's phone and then called his own with it to make sure he had the Asgardian's. He quirked a smile as he moved to stand at the bedside, admiring the god sprawled on it. "Strange they'd think that. Since about every time one of you people shows up here, that's what happens," he pointed out. He pressed the cellphone to Loki's chest, using the motion as an excuse to lean in and press a slow, seductive kiss to the other man's lips, his tongue sliding suggestively along Loki's. Drawing back, Grant moved to start dressing. "I'll be sure to drop occasionally, then." He gave Loki a wicked, conspiratorial smirk. "We can give your brother some background noise." He didn't give the other man a chance to answer. Clothes in place, he stepped out into the living room proper.

Thor had been sitting in front of the TV trying to ignore the sounds coming from his bedroom. Loki's cries of pleasure had been at once sweet and painful to hear, and it hadn't taken much of it to drive the blonde to grab a few beers from the fridge. He tried not to glower at Ward as the man gave him an easy smirk and tried not to look or sound as irritated as he felt when he asked, "You are leaving, Agent Ward?"

Ward smirked easily, wondering if he was imagining jealousy in the other man. //Don't be stupid. It's his brother.// He's probably just annoyed by all the noise. "For now. I'll be back," he said easily, though he felt faintly nervous at the irritation obvious on Thor's face. He was starting to wonder if he should be more afraid of Thor than Loki. Outwardly, Grant didn't bat an eye. "Have a good night." He didn't wait for an answer as he slipped out the door, not terribly eager to have a bonding experience with the one vestige of family Loki had on the planet.

The beer bottle shattered in Thor's hand before he realized he'd been clenching his hand around it. Thankfully, there hadn't been much beer in it, but Thor still found himself cursing as glass went everywhere. With a growl of irritation, he rose to find something to clean it all up with.

Loki heard the sound and emerged from the bedroom, hair still tousled and wearing nothing but the sleep pants. He'd heard the door close or he might have been concerned over Ward's safety. His brother was anything but level headed, and while he was far from enamored of the agent, it would have been a shame to see such a pretty toy broken. "Should I be concerned, brother?" Loki drawled as he watched the puddle of beer and glass seeping slowly across the polished floor of the room. It seemed he'd managed to get to Thor. Instead of pure victory, Loki felt something more complex, a disquieting mixture of pleasure and sorrow. Things had never needed to deteriorate so completely. They never should have been allowed to go so wrong.

"You did not seem concerned when you brought him here; I can think of no reason for you to become so," Thor grated out before he could stop himself. He wanted to think he'd grown up a little recently, but he found himself unable to hide the pain he was feeling. His throat was tight, and he wanted to outright beg Loki to share his bed instead of bringing home anyone who smiled at him. Managing to collect himself, he knelt to begin cleaning up the mess. "The bottle slipped from my hand, is all," he added lamely, hoping that Loki wouldn't notice the cuts on his hand. It was a transparent lie, but lying had never been something Thor was good at, anyway. He'd already resolved to accept that his brother would have nothing to do with him, and he intended to do his best to let Loki move on. Actually doing so, however, was proving to be far more difficult than he'd anticipated.

Loki had taken a step forward, the mask of indifference falling from his face for a moment before he could stop himself. Beneath everything, the urge to connect with his brother remained painfully strong. He hated himself for it and yet was powerless to do anything to stop the impulse. He stood frozen there, not close enough to touch the man and not far enough away for it to look entirely casual anymore, and finally let his hand fall. Loki could see the torn skin on Thor's palm, and he knew what had happened. He knew that he had caused it to happen. "Here, let me." Gaze carefully averted, Loki took one of the towels and began mopping up the mess alongside Thor, uncertain of what else he could honestly do.

Thor hadn't missed the shift in Loki's expression but didn't dare to hope it meant what he wanted it to mean. He felt genuinely surprised when Loki knelt to help him clean up the mess. He tried not to let it show, continued gathering up glass and tossing it in the wastebasket he'd dragged over until the floor was clean. He started to push himself to his feet when his gaze chanced across his brother, and he hesitated. "Loki, I..." He reached for his brother's arm, but stopped himself before he made contact and quickly stood. "Thank you. For your help." The feeling of warmth running down the inside of his hand reminded him he needed to take care of the cuts on his palm. Moving to the kitchen, he pulled down the first aid kit and started tending the injuries. They'd heal quickly enough, but he wasn't particularly interested in leaving the wounds uncovered until they did.

"Of course." The words were somewhat stiff. Loki was far from having a grip on the idea of being friends with anyone at all. Being friends with his estranged brother was proving even less realistic a goal, and yet he wanted it. Loki realized with all his heart that he wanted somehow to reach across the gap between them and make some sort of inroads. "Let me help a bit more. I've always had more talent for healing than you have, brother." After battles, Thor tended to substitute mead for actual care. "You'll heal, but there's no reason for those not to be properly cleaned and bandaged in the meantime." He led the way to the bathroom without allowing Thor to lodge any protests and busied himself finding band aids and something marked as an antiseptic from the medicine cabinet. "Sit."

Normally, Thor would have blustered, protested, declared that he was too much a warrior to need someone to nurse him back to health. Especially when it was just a few simple cuts. Something stayed him, and he followed obediently, numbly putting the lid to the toilet down before he sat as directed. Loki's cries of pleasure still echoed in the back of his mind, and he pressed his lips together as he tried not to dwell on it. The thought hurt him and made him want to shove his brother against the nearest wall all at the same time. "Kind of you to help, brother," he finally found the wherewithal to mutter, chancing only fleeting eye contact with the other man.

"I prefer that your healing go smoothly," Loki countered, trying to brush off the thanks, not sure he deserved them. He'd pushed Thor into hurting himself, and he'd done it on purpose. He'd wanted to see the man bleed, though perhaps not in so literal a fashion. The hurt was an old ache that bloomed anew every time he realized how far apart they had drifted no matter how close they were. "I... hope that you will forgive my dalliance for the evening. Privacy is at a premium at the moment, so it was far from the most discreet of ways to go about things." Loki endeavored to ignore the way Thor's skin felt beneath his fingers and how badly he wanted to touch more. Instead he cleaned and dressed the wounds quickly and stepped away, backing himself almost against the far wall in an awkward effort to put distance between them and maintain his control.

Thor's fingers slid against his palm as if trying to hold onto the sensation of Loki's touch. He was so distracted he barely realized that Loki had been talking, and the words caught up a moment later. The apology, the acknowledgement, was like the twist of a knife, and anger boiled over before he could think about it. Thor's hand slammed against the tiles beside Loki's head as he closed distance, bright blue eyes meeting icier hues, his nose no more than an inch from his brother's. "Forgive?" he growled, teeth bared. "You... it was on purpose! I was meant to hear you... hear..." The thought of that beautiful, keening cry distracted Thor from his anger, and his gaze softened as he realized suddenly just how close he was to the other man. "Brother..."

The rush of fear and anger that had come along with Thor's outburst left Loki's veins surging with adrenaline. He'd been ready to lash out, to fight back, and instead he found Thor gazing at him with a tenderness that he thought he'd imagined at first. The sound of Thor's voice quelled the doubt, and Loki felt his resolve crumbling. He felt the familiar, long-ago pull of being so close to Thor for reasons that were miles away from fighting. "Tell me, would you have taken his place?" Loki let a beat pass, a long breath between them with Thor's lips so close to his that it hurt not to kiss them. "Would you now?"

Not even Thor could miss the look of need in his brother's eyes. The hand not braced against the wall slide to the side of Loki's neck and up to gently grasp the slender jaw. "I would, brother. Gladly," he breathed, his pulse hammering in his ears. He leaned in agonizingly slowly, half expecting a trick, for his brother to disappear or slip from his grasp. Instead, he felt nothing but soft lips under his own. The contact broke what little resolve Thor had left, and he couldn't help the soft sound of need at the back of his throat as he pressed himself solidly against Loki, his tongue sliding over lips he thought he'd never again kiss.

Loki made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry as Thor shoved him hard against the wall. The tile was too cool against his skin, but his brother was all muscular heat and more than made up for it. His arms slid around Thor's neck as if afraid that otherwise the man might slip away from him. He couldn't let that happen when he needed so desperately to hold on. The desire he felt for Ward had been a pleasant distraction. It paled in comparison to the sheer need that thrummed through his veins as he clutched at Thor, legs parting so that the man's thigh could press between them.

Thor's fingers tangled with artless need in Loki's soft, dark hair. It felt like it had been forever and yesterday all at once since he'd done so. His kiss went from need to sheer, starved hunger as he licked his way into his brother's mouth, one hand sliding down to grasp Loki's hip roughly. His other hand slid over Loki's chest, drifting to one side, palm and fingers spreading across as much skin as possible as Thor circled Loki's nipple with his thumb. He still feared that Loki might come to his senses, might change his mind at any moment and demand they stop or squirm away, and he wanted to make sure his brother had no interest in doing so.

Loki want to stop and see the expression on Thor's face, but he feared seeing it. He dove forward instead and met every punishing kiss with equal fervor. It would be better not to think of it all, better to simply experience. He'd spent years trying to hate Thor instead of loving him. He couldn't give his heart away again, but that didn't stop him from handing his body over willingly. Loki's lips went slack against Thor's for a moment at the harsh tweak of his nipple. Always Thor's strength had driven him mad with desire, made him want to be taken over utterly and completely. It seemed that nothing had changed in that respect. Loki let out a whimper of need and wrapped his leg around Thor's hips. Once they were both properly disrobed, it would require no preparation whatsoever before Thor could slide home inside him. He was still stretched and ready from Ward's visit, and the less time either of them had to think of what they were doing and what it might mean, the better.

Thor groaned as the leg around his hips drew him in closer, pressing them tight together. His hips shifted mindlessly against Loki's, and he bit roughly at his brother's throat as if to vent some of his passion. Their lovemaking had rarely ever been tender even when they'd been on good terms, and gentility seemed even more out of place in the moment. His lips collided with Loki's once more, the contact punishing and perfect as his hands devoured the skin beneath them. "Brother," he panted softly between kisses, "I need you..."

If only the words were true in all the ways he ached for them to be. Rather than thinking too much about it, Loki twisted in his brother's arms and pressed himself back against Thor's body. Just the feeling of the man was enough to make him want to beg. The familiar hands on his skin and the rough catch in Thor's voice... "Then have me," Loki offered smoothly, guiding one of Thor's hands to the waistband of the pants that he wore. "I'm more than ready for you. Have me."

It wasn't exactly as Thor had pictured it. He'd hoped to pull Loki into his bedroom, for them to be tangled together for hours, for them to fall asleep entwined and exhausted. He hesitated only a second, before his fingers gladly tugged Loki's pants down around his brother's thighs. He undid his own just enough to free his cock, letting it drag between Loki's buttocks a few times before he shifted to press into his brother's entrance. Thor quickly pushed aside any thoughts of why the entry was so easy, focusing instead on just how tightly his brother squeezed him. One hand moved to rest on Loki's lower abdomen, pulling him back into Thor's body as he leaned forward to kiss his neck and nuzzle his cheek. His other hand covered one of Loki's where it was braced against the wall, his fingers twining with his brother's as Thor groaned his pleasure. It was all perfect, just as Thor remembered, and he easily lost himself in the moment as he slowly sank into tight, welcoming heat.

 

Loki was grateful to be facing away from the man, grateful that Thor couldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes at the feeling of it. The touch and the sensation were too familiar and too good. For a moment Loki felt as if he might crack wide open, might pour his heart out to a man who wouldn't want to take it yet again. He held himself back from speaking with an effort and instead rolled back into Thor's embrace. His hips did all the talking, moving in familiar patterns despite the limited mobility afforded him by his brother's punishing grip. "Harder," Loki gasped against the wall. He wanted it to be too much for thought, though he couldn't save himself from threading his fingers through Thor's and holding fast.

Thor gladly obliged the demand with a growl, his hips slamming hard into his brother's. His fingers tightened around Loki's. The embrace was strangely brutal and intimate at once, and he tried not to let himself think about it. Instead, he bit roughly at the pale skin of Loki's neck without regard for whether he might leave marks. He knew that Ward might well see them; in fact, he rather hoped he would. //He is mine.// The thought came unbidden, but it drove him to thrust harder, as if trying to claim his brother as his once more. He knew he wouldn't last much longer at the pace they were going, but that had ever been the point.

Loki wasn't sure whether it was a gasp or a sob that escaped him as he took every punishing thrust relish. He loved it. He'd missed it, the explosive heat of Thor's embrace. No one else had ever compared, not the most intoxicating of all his encounters, not the most beautiful of his lovers. No one stood up to Thor. It hurt to think of how badly he wanted it all to mean something when he knew it wouldn't. Couldn't. Even their feelings meant nothing because Thor would never put those before the wants of his father. Loki tried to harshly shove it all aside. He narrowed his world to Thor's cock stretching him wide and his brother's fingers crushing his. It took an embarrassingly short time for him to reach his peak. Loki nearly passed out as the climax crashed over him and left him trembling against Thor's chest.

Thor held his brother, gasping sharply as he felt Loki's body squeeze him that much tighter. He felt Loki's weight sagging against his arm, and he pulled the lithe form against his broad chest, holding him steady as Thor continued to thrust, finding his release a few moments later and growling his pleasure between clenched teeth. Feeling his own legs beginning to tremble in the wake of the orgasm, he tugged Loki back a few steps to sag onto the plush bath mat, bringing his brother along with him and wrapping his arms around him as he panted for air. It occurred a moment later that Loki might not appreciate be cradled thus, and his arms loosened around the other man's waist. He ran a hand through soft, dark curls before he thought better of it, then quickly dropped his hand, feeling suddenly awkward as he wondered how he should handle the intimate moments of the aftermath. 

Loki wanted more than anything to abandon himself to the moment and take everything that Thor was willing to give him. He almost turned around in Thor's arms and buried himself in that strong embrace. It was the only place he'd ever felt truly at home, truly loved, and Loki shut his eyes against the urge as it swelled within him. "Nothing has changed," he said aloud to remind them both of where they stood. "You are still Odin's son. One day you will sit on the throne of Asgard and rule it. There is no home for me there, and we both know that." Carefully Loki drew himself away and pulled up the sleep pants again, regretful and hating himself even though he knew it was the only thing to do. "There's no home for me with you."

Thor numbly arranged his own clothes as Loki stood, though he could really only think of how much his brother's words hurt. He opened his mouth, about to declare the words a lie, to declare himself done with Asgard altogether, but he hesitated. Their parents would never allow it. Especially not Odin. His fingers longingly brushed against Loki's arm before falling defeatedly to his side. "Of... of course, brother." The muscles in his jaw worked as he pressed his lips tight together. "I would be a fool to believe otherwise, wouldn't I?" The question was flat, though his voice trembled slightly. 

It hurt, knowing he couldn't demand that their father tolerate the relationship and allow them to rule side by side. Thor knew, of course, that even had he accepted Loki's request, even had he told their father, it wouldn't have been allowed by the people. Loki had burned his bridges on Asgard. He raked an agitated hand through his hair in lieu of gathering Loki back into his arms. The gesture reminded him of the bandages his brother had applied for him, and the small reminder of Loki’s concern made the hurt cut deeper. He moved back toward the living room, pausing at the door. "I... I will be on the couch if you need anything," he said before quietly stepping out of the bathroom and moving toward his temporary bed.

Loki forced himself into the shower. He needed to reclaim some sense of control and to strip Thor's scent from his skin. His hands moved over the marks on his neck, and desire to give up and give in no matter how foolish it was for them both nearly overwhelmed him. With an effort, Loki let it pass. He breathed in and then out carefully and finally toweled off. By the time he stripped the bed and remade it, he had begun to feel more himself. He had taken refuge with the Avengers to forge a new path for himself, not to remain latched to the old one. There was no future with Thor no matter how badly he wished that there was. Loki repeated the words to himself as he closed his eyes.


	4. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint, Phil, and Nat have their own movie night with only a slight interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. Life just got hectic, and I lost track of time, but things should be more regular - at least until I head out to Dragon*Con next Wednesday.

Clint murmured his thanks to Simmons, definitely feeling more relaxed. He knew it was the drug, but the raw panic he'd felt was gone, and that was no small relief. He let Phil help him off the gurney, surprised to find that, in spite of feeling pleasantly leaden, he was easily able to walk alongside his handler. He followed Phil back to his suite, immediately pressing himself to the other man once they were inside the door. "I need you to hold me," he murmured quietly, burying his face in Coulson's chest. While the drug had taken the edge off, he still felt anxious. He just didn't feel like he needed to crawl under the bed and stay there the rest of his life. He still needed Phil to touch him, to hold him, to drive away the memories of Loki doing the same while he moaned for more and screamed in the back of his mind for it to stop.

"Whatever you need," Phil answered without hesitation. He carefully led Clint over to the couch and settled in with Clint against his side. The situation had been bad. That it was Loki who'd had to fix it made things a million times worse. That the god had somehow talked his way into a temporary spot on the team... Phil could feel the headache threatening again and pushed it back. He'd think about that particular aspect of the mess later. "Right now, you're wrung out. You need to rest. You need to breathe. If you get hungry, let me know." Generally when he got a good dose of painkillers or muscle relaxants, eating sounding like far too much work, but that didn't mean Clint felt the same way. "In the meantime? Consider me your professional pillow and masseuse." 

Clint made a negating sound as he curled up against Phil, pressing in close for a moment before shifting back and tugging his handler's tie loose. He worked like a man possessed as he plucked at buttons and fabric and worked his way under all the layers until he could press his cheek and one hand to Phil's chest without anything between them. His fingers skated around the ridge of scars over Phil's chest as he listened to the steady beat of the man's heart, reassuring himself that it was all real and they were together. "You won't let him do it, right? You don't... Whatever happened to you, it... it's not worth him being in your head." He looked up at Phil. "Maybe you should listen to Fury. I mean, he knows you, Phil, knows how strong you are. Maybe if he thinks you shouldn't know, then you shouldn't."

Phil winced, wishing he'd managed to hide the flinch a second later. He almost hated that Clint knew him so well. Almost. "I... now isn't the moment to decide," he finally answered. "I'm sorry, I can't say that I won't. It's... I feel like there's this huge thing... well, there is this huge thing about me that even I don't know. Fury does. Sometimes, I think May does. The way she watches me, it... I should know, Clint. I'm just not sure it's worth the risk. Not yet. I'm not that desperate." He was close, and he wasn't too proud to admit that, but he wasn't yet. "Tony was dead too. We didn't have a body, but part of me wonders even if we'd found one, would Fury have done it? Whatever he did to me, would he have? And if he wouldn't have, what's so terrible about it that it isn't worth that risk?" Phil met Clint's gaze, putting voice to the real fear buzzing beneath the surface. "If it's so terrible and so dangerous, what does it mean for what I am or what I might do?"

The question sent a chill through Clint. He hadn't thought of it that way. "You're you," he insisted quickly. "Don't say that like you're going to hurt someone. You're completely normal. Simmons checked you, right? You're fine." He took a deep breath, his mind scrambling for other explanations. "Maybe... maybe it's just something that they don't want people to know they can do. Security, right? I mean, think about it. If we could just start bringing people back, think of how many people would kill to know how to do it. It... it couldn't've been anything that drastic. You were only dead a few seconds."

"Do you really know that, Clint?" he pressed, tone still gentle but firm. "I don't. I could have been dead for a few seconds, a few minutes, a few days. I don't know because I don't remember." If he hadn't been injured, hadn't seen the blood and bone beneath his skin, Phil would have doubted whether the body he was walking around in was entirely his. "Maybe it's nothing to worry about, but how often has Fury hidden something that wasn't worth worrying about?" Nick Fury specialized in worrying topics. It was some kind of pet project as far as Phil could tell. The man collected incendiary information with a precision that was absolutely spectacular even for a spy.

Clint worried his bottom lip, his own problems forgotten as he worried instead for Phil. He still remembered the Hydra weapons stockpile, but the archer also hated the idea that the system he was used to trusting might in fact be hiding something utterly terrifying from them. "I guess I don't know. Not really. But... I wanna think that it's... it's not that bad. I mean, if he thought you were that important, maybe... maybe it was worth it."

"Maybe," Phil answered, though if pressed he would have had to admit that he didn't tend to think of himself as worth it. It was too ingrained in him after years as a handler to be the one doing the protecting, not to think of himself as needing the same in reverse. It was part of why he hated that Creed's attack had left him feeling so exposed on so many levels. "Right now isn't the time to figure it out. Right now, we just... I just can't. I can barely let myself think about Creed and Loki both being in the building," he admitted quietly. "Right now I want to be right here with you and try not to worry about the rest."

Clint nodded, letting himself sag quietly against the other man as he rode out the calming effects of the anxiety medication. After a few long moments, he finally pressed his lips to Phil's chest, slowly kissing his way up the man's nicely squared jaw before pressing a slow kiss to Phil's mouth. He drew away with a quiet sigh, pressing his forehead to Phil's. "Needed that," he said quietly.

"Mmm," Phil agreed, nodding with a dreamy sort of smile on his face. Clint's lips were like the key to unlocking a moment of real relaxation. He stole another kiss, gentle and undemanding. "Lemme know if you get tired. We'll head to bed. As long as I get to keep holding onto you, I really don't care where I am." If Clint had told him he wanted to run off to the ends of the earth, Phil would have just asked for enough time to prime the jet first. For the moment the world wasn't in danger of imploding, and he didn't intend to spend any mental energy on anything but Clint for a while.

"I will. Tell you if I get tired, I mean," the archer clarified. He'd felt Coulson relax against him, and that in and of itself was strangely rewarding. His fingertips slid into the hair at the base of Phil's neck, and he pressed a few more light kisses to his handler's lips before giving up and sliding across the man's lap. He leaned heavily against Phil, trying to get as close to him as he could. He needed the contact, the reassurance. "Right now, I need to touch you. And kiss you." As if to prove it, he leaned in for another long, gentle kiss.

Phil didn't protest. He slid his hands to Clint's hips and held on carefully. He knew the bruises that lurked beneath the fabric all too well. He'd seen them once and they were already emblazoned on his memory. The lazy kisses eased the tension curling up in his gut, each one a soothing reminder that everything could be good. His hands moved upward, carefully skimming over Clint's back to his shoulders and then down again, putting no pressure on Clint’s stitches. Everything was lighter than it might have been in another moment. If they'd just been themselves with none of the baggage, he would have clung to Clint's hips and kissed him with all the hunger he usually felt. Instead they needed something softer but every bit as intimate.

Clint sighed happily at the gentle touches, feeling relief wash over him at the reassurance. The steady, gentle grip was enough to calm him in ways that the medicine had no hope of doing. He kissed his way back down Phil's jawline, nuzzling the man's throat. He shrugged off his vest, tossing it to the floor with a thump. His undershirt went next, and he leaned in again to explain, "Not trying to start anything. Just don't want anything separating us."

"I'm okay with that," Phil agreed earnestly. He shifted a little so that he could shrug out of his suit jacket, tossing it on the couch next to them. Seeing Clint shirtless never stopped being beautiful. It had always been painfully distracting in professional situations where he was expected to not pointedly leer at his asset. In the privacy of the suite with no one present but the two of them, he looked his fill of anything that Clint let him see. "I can take mine off too, but I have to admit, the scar kind of messes up the view."

"I'd have to disagree with you there," Clint countered, taking the matter out of Phil’s hands and wrestling the shirt free. His fingers tracing the marred flesh gently as if trying to soothe away whatever hurt might be left behind. He hated that it had happened, and even more that Phil was still tortured by it. Clint was infinitely grateful that Phil was still with them, and the archer desperately wished the circumstances weren't so obviously worrying Phil. He leaned in close, pressing his lips to Phil's throat as if trying to soothe him further, then pulled back, blue eyes glinting with amusement as his fingers traced the scar more directly. "Besides, if this is ruining the view, I don't wanna think about what I must look like."

 

"See, now I think you're just fishing for compliments," Phil answered with a warning look that was really more amused. "In case the throng of admirers that I know for a fact follows you like lovesick puppies whenever you go out on the prowl wasn't an indicator? You're gorgeous." He leaned in and pressed a kissed to the skin directly over Clint's heart. "I have zero complaints about the view. Possibly fewer than zero." The bandages bothered him only because of what they represented. Phil didn't mind them breaking up the skin, silent reminders of exactly how strong Clint was and how much he could survive. All things told, they'd both been in far worse shape physically before.

Clint grinned. "Good," he decided, skin tingling in the wake of the simple kiss. "Since, y'know, you're probably going to end up seeing this a lot. For a long while. Remember, you fed me, which means I'm going to be practically impossible to get rid of." His fingers trailed away from the scar on Phil's chest, gently tracing the outline of the man's pecs, down over his abs. Clint's eyes followed his own fingers as if trying to memorize every detail, to make Phil as real as possible to his mind.

Phil laughed and drew Clint down into a soft kiss. "I think I'm good with that. I'll keep feeding you if you keep coming back. Or just staying. Just staying's good." There were a million things he wanted to say, but it wasn't time for most of them yet. There was reassuring Clint that they were okay, and then there was putting undue pressure on something that was new and fragile given everything they'd been through. Phil wasn't willing to risk their future just to get the chance to say something in the present. It was worth waiting for. Though his self esteem wasn't terrible, the way Clint stared at him and traced his body was a hell of an ego boost. He hadn't really expected the intensity of Clint's gaze as he followed every line and curve. "Like what you see?"

Clint's eyes slowly trailed up to Phil's, and he smiled. "I do," he said simply, leaning in for a slow kiss as if to back the words up. Perhaps Phil didn't have the ferociously hardened form of the operations specialists Clint trained with, but his body held a quiet strength all its own, and the man's spirit was like steel. It was a combination that Clint found alluring and sexy on multiple levels. "Glad I get to touch what I see, too. Might be a little disappointed if it was all just a tease."

"I can't promise follow-through just yet, but the touching is fantastic." He wasn't sure he'd ever felt anything as uniquely soothing as Clint's hands on his body. "I remember the first time I saw you on the range. I've never seen anyone so focused. I probably should've asked to be reassigned right then and there. I'm fairly certain that Hill would have called me out for leering if she'd been there to see it."

Clint's eyebrows raised a little at that, and he smiled shyly as his fingers traced over Phil's jawline and down the man's throat. "Kinda glad you didn't. Actually, really glad you didn't," he amended, leaning in for a quick kiss. "Especially considering she and Fury both were about ready to give up on me. They figured you'd get me in line." He grinned roguishly at the thought. "I guess you did." His fingers traced over his handler's arms, his expression turning a little sheepish. "I remember when we first went out on a combat op together. I have to admit, I underestimated you. I figured you could give orders, and that was it." Blue eyes flicked up to meet Coulson's eyes. "But I got taken down, and you protected me. Pretty damned amazing." He smirked. "And sexy."

Coulson smiled at the praise and stretched up to find Clint's lips again, lingering there. He remembered the few breathless seconds when one of the men actually got his hands on Clint. He was protective of his assets, that was no secret. If he thought someone was useful enough to bother overseeing them, he wanted them to come home in one piece. He hadn't even thought before charging in himself. Real thought hadn't caught up to instinct until they were safe again and Clint was looking at him like he was a totally different person. Then again, having seen some footage of himself in business mode, it wasn't an unfair implication. "For the record, I will always protect you whenever I can even if you can protect yourself just fine most days."

"I know," Clint said with a smile. He sobered a moment later as his eyes traced Coulson's face. "I know you feel like... like you couldn't when..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "But having you there afterwards, or when I had the hammer... having you here now... It means more than you'd think." His fingers traced over one of Phil's biceps as he kissed his handler's throat, breathing him in and sighing contentedly. "You know, you're the first person to ever be there for me? Before I got busted up on that op, I'd never had anyone who'd just sit by the gurney until I woke up, or bring me coffee when the nurses said no." He smiled against Phil's skin. "Or let me sleep on their couch when I had a nightmare and make me coffee the next morning."

Phil absorbed the pain the words brought. He loathed the idea that no one had ever been there for Clint the way he deserved. His parents, his family, they hadn't taken care of him or he never would have ended up on SHIELD's radar. //And would I really want that?// It still hurt even if he wouldn't have changed the path of Clint's life since it had brought their paths together in the end. "I know there are a million things I haven't ever told you. A lot of people assume that I'm a robot or something equally flattering, but the truth is I just... I tend to assume no one will be interested. SHIELD is about getting things done. The background information can become extraneous." He searched carefully for the words. "I may not have talked a lot, but you always listened." 

Clint nodded, shifting to catch Phil's lips in another kiss. "For the record? I'm always interested. And happy to listen, whenever you're ready to talk. Also for the record? The fact that you lost your mom last year? That's the sort of thing you're now required to share in a much more timely fashion," he said, his voice gentle but firm. He pressed their foreheads together, his arms draping themselves over Phil's shoulders. "I may not be the most graceful person in the world when it comes to being delicate about, y’know, delicate matters, but I care."

"I know you do," Phil answered as he wrapped his own arms around Clint's waist. "I know you care, and I'm sorry that I've been so bad about making the communication run two ways. It's been a mistake, and it's one I don't intend to make again." He would make others, probably thousands of them. Relationships were a minefield he'd never put the proper amount of time into learning to navigate. He'd been slightly distracted by learning to navigate literal minefields and other hazards. He'd been learning to be a better soldier and often a better man, but generally not a better boyfriend or even a better friend. "There's gonna be a learning curve all the way around for us."

"That's okay," Clint said, smiling and rubbing their noses together as callused fingers played through the hair at the back of Phil's neck. "You were trying to be professional. Now you only have to do that when we're at work. In fact, that's exactly the only place you're allowed to do that." He sighed happily, relishing the security of having Phil's arms wrapped around his waist. "Just, y'know, promise to tell me if I'm being a jackass, okay? I'm not exactly experienced in real relationships." He paused self-consciously. "Uh, by which I mean, I'm not. At all."

Phil let that sink in for a minute. Deciding to set the interrogation aside for a second, he allowed, "I've dated. Some. I don't think it would be fair to pretend that I've..." He stopped, brow furrowed, and then eased into an uncertain smile. "I'm actually not either. As it turns out, I've spent the last five decades not having relationships that weren't professional ones. Friendships. Sex, of course, I'm not actually a robot... but… yeah." It sounded pretty pathetic laid out so openly, but he couldn't bring himself to pretend that somehow seeing a cellist in Portland for a few weeks - no matter how sweet she'd been - counted as having a relationship.

Clint looked honestly surprised at that, though his smile stayed gentle and about as happy as it had gotten since they'd been kidnapped. "Really? I would've thought... Well, I'm flattered, that's for sure." The archer had always assumed his handler, stoic and private though he might have been, had at least had a few relationships. Hell, he'd figured Phil had had a few fairly normal relationships, in fact. "Well, the world missed out. I feel like I got lucky." He leaned down and stole a quick kiss. "Hell of a rough start. Guess it can only go up from here, right?"

"I like to think so," Phil agreed with a flicker of a smile. He was glad that Clint wasn't angry or upset, glad that they were on the same page in an odd sort of a way. "We're a mess. We're going to keep being a mess." The smile brightened until it was real and maybe a little goofy, and Phil stretched in for the next kiss, unable to stop sharing them now that he had permission to do so. "I'm glad you're my mess, and I'm going to do everything I can to convince you to keep being my mess for the foreseeable future."

Clint actually found it in himself to laugh at that. "I can definitely be your very own, personal mess," he decided. " I am kind of a walking tornado. I guess that's why SHIELD points me at the bad guys so often." He finally slid off of Phil's lap, but didn't really let himself get any further away, still staying pressed close to the other man. Clint just didn't want Phil's legs going completely numb. As if to make up for it, he draped his arms over Phil's shoulders from the side and rested his head on his handler's shoulder. "You realize, of course, that at some point we've got some ducks to feed, right? I promised them."

"Ducks are good." He could put on jeans and a t-shirt and just be Phil for awhile, and that sounded pretty heavenly when Clint was next to him not being Agent Barton. They'd go back to it soon enough. 

"Sirs, Dr. Banner has directed me to invite you to a movie night tomorrow evening at seven. There will be popcorn and Lord of the Rings, and he would very much appreciate your attendance."

"Everyone is invited?" Phil asked evenly.

"Everyone, sir."

"We may be otherwise engaged. Send Dr. Banner our regrets," Phil answered.

"Of course, sir."

Phil swallowed hard and then looked over at Clint, obviously worried. "Was that... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken for you. I know we'll have to deal with it, but tomorrow seems pretty soon to have to face up to the fact that Loki is supposed to be one of the guys all of a sudden. I think I'd rather have movie night with you and Nat."

Clint shook his head, looking far from offended. "No, I... I'm with you on that," he murmured, feeling a twist of sick fear once again. He took a deep breath. "I don't know if I could be in the same room with him after... I don't know if I ever will be able to. Not unless I'm supposed to be taking him out." He swallowed hard. "I don't know what makes it harder. Seeing the video of him killing you or..." He took a shaky breath and buried his face in Phil's chest. "He made me like it, Phil. I begged," he murmured, words muffled against the other man's skin. "It was all I wanted."

It was all Phil could do to breathe through the rush of pain and anger at the words. The worst thing he could do was feed the fear in Clint or the uncertainty or even the anger if they really were going to have to find a way to work with - or at least around - Loki. "I will never let him lay a hand on you again. Count on that." He stroked soothing lines over Clint's back, reminding himself to be careful of the stitches and bandages. "He was controlling you. What you wanted wasn't what you wanted. Don't blame yourself, Clint. Don't let him do that to you."

Clint nodded against Phil's chest, trying to calm his breathing. "Thank you," he whispered. "I mean, for everything." He fell silent, letting Phil's touches soothe him, the anxiety drugs lulling him into an easy haze. "I... I don't think I could do this without you, Phil." The words were slurred as he felt himself growing sleepy, sagging against his handler as he drifted into sleep.

Phil honestly considered staying right there, but he knew they'd both be in for a special sort of pain come morning if they didn't move. He didn’t bother to fully wake Clint, just got him moving and on his feet so they could shuffle into the bedroom. As soon as his head hit the pillow and Clint's head hit his shoulder, he was out.

Morning brought light in through the window and sadly directly into Phil's eyes. He groaned and tried to turn away only to realize he was pinned by a warm weight. "Mmm." The world, bright as it was, didn't feel so bad with Clint curled happily up against him.

Clint instinctively clung to Phil as the man tried to roll over, consciousness coming slowly at first and then jolting him awake. His head jerked up as he took in his surroundings, arm still clenched around Phil before he registered where they were and that they were safe. He steadied his breathing, then smiled down at Coulson. "Sorry. Got disoriented," he said, his grip easing as he settled against his handler more comfortably. "Can't get enough of waking up like this."

"S'okay. I wasn't trying to get away from you, just the sun." Phil wrapped his arms around Clint in a loose hug and let his eyes fall closed, sun be damned. It felt too good having Clint against him to worry about how bright it was. "You're cozy," he pronounced. "Nat was right." Of course, she usually was. It was a pretty annoying habit - or would have been if it hadn't saved their lives so often. "I have a busy day planned today of us doing pretty much this. And later? Doing this, but with donuts, possibly in the living room."

"Sprinkle donuts. And coffee," Clint muttered into Phil's neck. He didn't really remember getting to the bed, but he was fairly certain Phil had had something to do with it. His hand trailed over Coulson's chest, his eyes following his fingers' trail through the hair. "First, though, I'm gonna need to do this for awhile. Maybe kiss you some. Or a lot. Food and coffee aren't nearly as important.

"Even with morning breath? Wow, maybe you really do like me," Phil teased in return, though he shifted to find Clint's lips without any protest at all. He didn't give a damn about morning breath when he had a man as gorgeous as Clint Barton looking to get close to him. That took priority over damn near everything - certainly it took priority over small matters of hygiene. Even after everything they'd been through, it was shockingly easy to get lost in the soft touch of Clint's lips on his own.

Clint sighed quietly, pressing himself closer, his hand bracing on Phil's chest. It was easy to forget all the hurt in that moment. Creed hadn't managed to touch his sense of comfort when it came to kissing, and he wasn't even sure he could let it interfere for too long with his desire for Phil. He knew it might be different for his handler, though, and Clint kept the contact light, letting the other man set the pace. Mostly. The archer couldn't resist licking at Phil's lips, silently asking for entrance as he lost himself in the kiss. 

While the practical thing to do was probably to hold back, for once Phil couldn't let himself be practical. Instead he parted his lips at the silent request and held on a little tighter to Clint. He'd never been inhibited in bed before, and he didn't really want Creed to take that confidence away. Things would be different. He knew that he would have some hard and fast limits for awhile, but he trusted Clint to infiltrate all of the gray areas between. They'd been through too much for his trust in Clint to be anything but explicit. That coupled with the fact that he'd wanted to kiss the man senseless for god only knew how long meant that Phil's resistance to the comfort Clint offered was low at best.

Clint sighed quietly as his tongue slipped into the other man's mouth, gliding against slick muscle as he felt his breath come a little faster. His hand slid down the other man's side as he kept the kiss slow but passionate, feeling his heart skip a beat. Phil wasn't pushing him away. Clint felt relieved that they could even have that much, and he carefully tangled his legs with Phil's. He broke the kiss only to follow it with a few shorter but no less intimate ones, then drew back, panting a little as his hand carded through Phil's hair. His lips made their way down to Phil's throat before he paused, remembering the delicate state they were both in. "Phil," he murmured, voice a little thick as he tried to fight back the arousal he was feeling. "Sorry. I... I don't wanna push. I probably... shouldn't." He felt guilty, felt like it was too soon and too inconsiderate. He didn't want the other man to think he couldn't wait. Hell, they'd planned to take it slow even before things went crazy. But Clint hated the idea of waiting, hated the idea that something else could tear them away from one another. He hated the idea of hurting Coulson even more, though, so he searched the other man's face, hoping Phil had the answers.

Phil took a shaky breath. Adrenaline and desire were pumping through his system, but he couldn't ignore the fact that underneath that all there was a definite amount of fear there too. He hated that more than anything. He wanted things to be completely normal and to be able to give and take as much as Clint wanted. Instead he found himself shaking his head slightly. "It... you... no, you... we shouldn't right now, that's all," he finally managed in an uncharacteristically uncertain tone. Phil felt honestly ashamed to be incapable of moving past the undercurrent of terror that being so intimate brought on, but he couldn't. The man's voice shook as he said, "I'm sorry, Clint."

"Don't be," Clint murmured, hands immediately stroking over Phil's face, down his neck to his chest as if to soothe away the tension and fear he could see in the other man. He pulled Phil close, simply holding him. "It's okay. I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with." He wanted to taste and feel and become completely absorbed in the other man, but Clint knew that it wasn't fair to demand more of him. If the archer was honest with himself, he wasn't above the nerves and fear, either. "I'm with you. We're in this together, okay?"

Phil nodded, a tight, small movement that spoke of just how much control it was taking him not to break down. He took a shuddering breath and then kissed Clint again because that really did feel like heaven even if he felt like a tease doing it. "I just need you to not think for a second that... it isn't you. If this was a few days ago, before this..." He stopped and took a breath again, then said more calmly, "If it was a few days ago, believe me when I say that there would have been no hesitation. I want you, and that hasn't changed. I just need a little time."

"Shhh, I know. I know," Clint soothed, his fingers trailing over Phil's cheek. "I know you need space. I shouldn't've pushed. I should... I'm gonna let you tell me when you're ready, okay?" He pressed their foreheads together, taking a deep breath before stealing a few quick kisses. "You decide how far we go from now on, baby."

"It's fine. I didn't... we wouldn't know where the boundaries are without pushing them." Phil smiled, though it looked more pained than anything. "Unfortunately there's no way to make that not painfully awkward." He hated putting Clint through the rise and fall of disappointment and confusion that came along with figuring it all out and putting the pieces together. He'd never been more grateful that no matter how many times people made fun of Clint for being flighty or neurotic or impatient, he was, at heart, one of the steadiest forces he'd ever had the pleasure of having in his life. "The kissing's good, though. It really, really is."

 

Clint smiled, leaning in and brushing their lips together. "We can do that. All morning, if you like. Then a coffee and donut break followed by more kissing," he decided, leaning in to nibble at Coulson's bottom lip. "I'm planning to kiss you so much that by the time you are ready for more, you'll be feeling a little crazy." Leaning in, he tenderly pressed their lips more firmly together, licking his way into Phil's mouth again and gently stroking their tongues together. He sighed quietly, focusing to keep himself from getting too turned on by the contact. He wanted Phil to know that he could respect the man's wishes, could enjoy the contact without expecting more.

That sounded like perfection, and Phil was stupidly grateful for Clint's deep wells of patience, the ones he usually reserved only for missions. Phil savored each and every kiss even more knowing the restraint behind them. He gave as good as he got until he stomach gave a loud rumble of protest. "Hmm, maybe sooner rather than later for the donuts?" he ventured. "Since my stomach's the one griping, I'll even put on clothes and get them for us." He hated to leave the warmth of the bed, but he was happy to be able to do something for Clint even if it was something little. For awhile those little gestures would probably be the most important things they were able to do to keep one another on track.

Clint nodded, smiling as he stole one last kiss before the other man slipped out of the bed. "Sprinkles," he reminded Phil pointedly, still grinning a little. He watched Phil get dressed, propped up on his elbows on the bed. He caught Phil's sleeve as the man made his way to the door, tugging him in for a kiss. "I'll be here. Well, in the kitchen. With coffee." He waited until the other man had left the suite before he sagged back against the comforter, his hand sliding into his boxers. He was aching for relief after all the making out, and it didn't take him long to get off. He felt a small pang of guilt at not having better control, but it seemed a better solution than pushing Phil into something he wasn't ready for. After a few moments to catch his breath, he moved into the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth, tugging on fresh boxers before finally moving to the kitchen to make sure there was coffee when Coulson got back.

Phil returned with donuts and a few other assorted groceries. He didn't want to leave the room again unless he absolutely had to because politely nodding to people and smiling hello had been positively painful. The only person he wanted to smile for was Clint. He sighed with relief at the scent of coffee and hurried into the kitchen, arms winding around Clint's waist. "Bless you, oh bringer of caffeine," he said by way of greeting as he rested his chin on Clint's shoulder from behind. "Pour me a cup? I'll put the donuts on- we don't need plates. We'll eat from the box. Plates have to be washed."

"Oh, god," Clint said, giving Phil a mock horrified look as he turned in Phil's arms to face the other man, "I've been living with you a couple days, and you're already turning into me." He grinned broadly, pressing his forehead to the other man's and draping his arms over Phil's shoulders. "Next thing, you'll be leaving socks and underwear in random places and wearing the same pair of pants four days in a row. And using your jeans as napkins." He pulled away, grabbing two mugs - his usual yellow one and one with a SHIELD logo - and poured a cup, putting the usual fixings in them both. He'd been around Phil long enough to know the man liked his coffee sweet and light. He passed the cup over to Phil before retrieving a doughnut encrusted with sprinkles and happily biting into it, sending sprinkles everywhere.

"I'm not you," Coulson immediately countered, watching the sprinkles fly and already planning to clean the kitchen up properly. He held up a finger. "Being neat is about deciding how much effort you want to put in," he explained, grabbing a napkin and picking his own doughnut up with that. "I prefer not to do dishes unless I have to. Time spent doing dishes is time not spent drinking coffee, eating donuts, or making out with you. In other words, it cuts into my time to do the things I really do want to do."

Clint smirked. "Alright, fine, but the napkin? You're missing out on the whole point of eating donuts," he said, pointedly sucking frosting off his fingers before grabbing another. He settled on the barstool next to Coulson's and let his leg rest against the other man, turned halfway towards him as he sipped at his coffee. Everything disappeared but the simple fact of them sharing junk food and coffee and talking about being neat and tidy. Clint couldn't help but smile broadly at the fact. "Also? That's entirely too much planning just for the sake of being neat."

"The whole point? Watching you suck on your fingers? Because I'm pretty sure I'm getting that right now." It was a leading comment, and it was meant to be one. Phil hoped it was okay. He'd put the brakes on, but that didn't mean he failed to notice when Clint looked sexy as hell. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a planner. You should be glad about that. You would never have survived a mission without that." Phil nudged the other man with his elbow, a gentle, playful bit of contact as they sat together at the bar. "I plan so that your ass doesn't end up in a sling, and I'm neat and tidy because somebody really needs to be in this tower. Apart from Steve." 

 

Clint hadn't meant to be enticing by sucking frosting off his hands, but knowing it had done something for Phil made him smile a little wickedly even as he blushed and filed the information away for later. "I am glad you're a planner. It'd be a shame for my ass to be in a sling. Almost as bad as if someone messed up my pretty face," he noted, taking a sip of coffee before destroying the donut in his hand. He proceeded to absently suck the icing off before remembering Phil's comment a moment before. Looking up, he made sure to get some eye contact in and offer the other man a wink before slowly drawing his index finger out of his mouth. He wasn't above teasing, no matter how slow they were taking things. In fact, it might have motivated him to do more of it. Misery loved company, and Clint wasn't above building the sexual tension for Phil as well. "But if you're gonna start picking up after all the Avengers, you might have your work cut out for you."

Phil honestly almost didn't hear the words. His eyes were glued to Clint's hands and the entirely indecent way he'd removed the icing from those strong fingers a few seconds before. What Clint had actually said registered at last, and he gave a slight shake of his head to clear out the cobwebs. "I'm not that stupid, but it does inspire me to want a nice, orderly section of the world to myself." He couldn't help smiling and allowing, "I kind of like having your mess here, though. Your mess is a special case because it's yours."

"Especially terrible, maybe," Clint allowed with a smirk. He hadn't missed the way Coulson was staring at his hands even after he got through cleaning the icing off of them. It brought to mind their long talk after they'd left the bar, the way Phil had taken his hands and touched them like they were the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. The archer took a casual sip of coffee, reaching over to place his hand over Phil's where it rested on the bar next to his own coffee mug. "Like them that much?" He smiled when Phil looked at him. "My hands."

Phil couldn't help but blush, feeling caught, but he nodded anyway. "You actually have the most beautiful hands I've ever seen," Phil confessed. He turned his own over to feel the calloused palms against his own. "I know what those hands can do. I know how strong they are. I've seen you shoot targets I couldn't even see from a million miles away. More importantly," he added, smile stretching a little, "I've felt how you touch me. So, yes, I definitely have a thing for your hands."

Clint smiled, enjoying more than he should have the way Phil blushed. "I'm alright with that. More than happy to feed into that," he said, gaze drifting to their joined hands. He let his fingers trace over Phil's, brushing callused fingertips over smooth palms, examining the lines of the other man's skin. "You don't have to feel embarrassed for liking them. I like knowing what turns you on, and I definitely like knowing that you think I'm sexy."

"That should never be in question." The truth was that he'd had a crush on Clint almost from the first moment they met. There was something about Clint's cocky attitude and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Phil had been a goner. Faced with having everything he wanted, of course the universe had thrown a wrench into the works. Phil still smiled at Clint and then glanced down at their joined hands. "Believe me when I say that wanting you? That's never, ever going to be a problem."

"Good." Clint slipped his hand free to steal another sip of coffee, but kept his gaze on Coulson, stretching a PJ-clad leg out and hooking it around Phil's. "You know, I hated you when we first met. For, like, three months. Then I realized I had a crush on you, but I figured you'd never have a thing to do with me, what with the cellist and all. And, y'know, the yelling at me. So I kinda let it go. No harm no foul, right?" He grinned to make it clear there'd been no hard feelings. "I might've been more difficult than was strictly warranted. But then, I was still getting over the whole 'join SHIELD or go to the Fridge' thing."

Coulson snorted at that. "You were... challenging. As it turns out, I like a challenge." In truth Clint had been a mess, but Coulson had gotten bits and pieces of his history, learned more as time went on, and it had all painted a picture that made it clear exactly why Clint didn't let people in. When he latched onto Natasha like a lifeline, Coulson had been shocked, honestly. A little jealous. He'd been fighting to keep Clint alive and help him adjust, and the second a beautiful redhead with anger management issues came along... it had been an unpleasant reminder of the gulf between them. "At the club the other night, for awhile I thought it was some kind of joke, you hitting on me."

Clint scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "It kinda was," he admitted, then held up his hand before Phil could get the wrong idea. "Not... I mean, it was kinda ribbing, just..." He blushed. "You were pretty damned adorable when Nat made you blush, and I couldn't resist. And I thought... Well, I'd figured you were straight. I'm usually pretty good at knowing, but... I guess you fooled me. Anyway... I thought there was no way anything was gonna happen, so..." He looked down at his coffee, watching it swirl in the bottom of his mug. "Sorry." He grinned a little as he looked up though. "Glad something did happen, though."

"I'm not as straight as I look," Phil answered with a chuckle. "I admit that I've dated more women than men, but it's definitely not an exclusive situation. The cellist was a girl. I guess... we talked about relationships earlier, and Audrey was probably the closest I've come since college, really." He'd been fairly certain that they could have been something. He'd loved the sound of her laughter and the way she looked first thing in the morning. In the end, he'd died - at least for awhile - and by the time he was on his feet and looked her up, he discovered that her move to Portland might have had a little something to do with the man she was living with there. It was fine. For the best, really, even though it had hurt like hell at the time. "No one's so straight that they could turn down a blow job from you if they had any idea what they'd be getting."

Clint smirked cockily at that. "It is one of my specialties, and I had some pretty inspiring material to work with," he said, leaning in conspiratorially and grinning more wickedly as he met Phil's gray-green eyes levelly. "I'm pretty sure yours is the biggest cock I've had the pleasure of shoving down my throat. Ever." It was a challenge to keep from getting too obviously turned on at the memory, but he also couldn't resist the opportunity to talk dirty to the other man.

Phil swallowed hard. He didn't bother to look away or try to hide the way his eyes darkened at the words and the note of want in Clint's voice. He could hear that every day for the rest of his life and never get tired of it. "Just... hold onto that thought and don't let me skip any shrink sessions because I suddenly have an extremely pronounced need to be in my right mind."

Clint smirked, clearly pleased with the effect he'd had. "Good," he decided, casually grabbing a third donut and biting into it with relish. "Always happy to provide some inspiration. I'll just talk dirty to you 'til you go to the shrink. And that'll motivate me to go, too." Much as he wanted to pounce on Phil, Clint knew that realistically it was just as likely that he'd freak out in the middle of things as it was for Phil. The archer knew from past experience that the only way to get through it was to go to therapy, but he truly loathed the process. Doing it for Phil was pretty great inspiration.

"Might get awkward if I have to take a cold shower every time I go to the shrink's office, but we'll see how it goes," Phil answered with a smirk. Lacking Clint's brutal workout schedule, he settled in with his coffee, leaving the rest of the donuts where they lay. "Is it weird that I find it romantic that you know exactly how I take my coffee?" Little things like that warmed him through because it made clear just how much time Clint spent watching him.

Clint looked pleasantly surprised by the revelation. It wasn't really something he'd thought about. He'd simply spent a lot of time with Phil, and he'd loved watching every move Phil had made. Clint had done his best to bury his crush on his handler in the first year they'd been together, and he'd thought he'd succeeded. In truth, he'd just been reduced to spending every justifiable moment with the man, watching every nuance of expression and movement until he'd had it memorized. //Jesus, Nat's right. I'm dumb. Should've realized I was obsessed way sooner.// "I guess I've watched you a lot. We'd be on a mission, or stuck in a safehouse somewhere, and there was nothing but waiting. When I wasn't making sure our gear was in shape, I guess I was watching you." His ears turned a little pink. "I was just... I'd be kind of mesmerized, watching you do little stuff. Make your coffee, put on your tie... I guess it's silly, but..." Really, it was what Clint did, what made him so effective in the field. He picked up little things. Especially things his subconscious deemed important.

"It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect," Phil answered. He couldn't help sounding a little choked up. The realization that maybe he hadn't been the only one wanting something he thought he couldn't have was as pleasant as it was surprising. "Thank you for telling me. Also? Natasha is a lot smarter than us. Just don't tell her I said so." The woman would be insufferable enough knowing she'd managed to fix them up even through all the hell they'd experienced in the past few days. His fingers tightened around Clint's for a moment. "It seems like we've been watching each other for awhile."

Clint tightened his grip on Phil's hand and pulled the man in for a kiss. It was slow and sensual, a silent expression of everything he was thinking. "Glad I can do more than watch now," he said as he drew away with a smile. He stroked a calloused thumb over Phil's cheek as he gathered the sense to put his coffee on the counter. He took Phil's other hand and pulled him in for another kiss, nuzzling Phil's jaw before settling back onto his barstool. "You know, you look pretty damned amazing. Definitely worth watching."

Phil ducked his head and gave a slight shrug. He wasn't used to handling praise in that fashion or to anyone being so easily complimentary. That the person in question was Clint only made it more intoxicating. Having already pushed his coffee aside, Phil rose, standing between Clint's legs and kissing him gently. "Well, you're more than welcome to watch. You won't even need a closed circuit if you hang around here. And you're welcome to hang around here as long as you want." He knew Clint would eventually want to return to his own room. They were just starting out, and living together was absolutely crazy, and yet... and yet he hated the thought of Clint disappearing from his daily routine.

"Might take you up on that," Clint murmured, kissing gently at Phil's neck, surrendering his hold on the man's hands to rest his own on Phil's hips. Every time he thought of going back to his room, of waking up alone, he felt terrified and painfully lonely. It seemed ridiculous, like he should have been able to deal with things better, but he was too scared to let his handler out of his sight to consider leaving anytime soon. "Just, y'know, let me know if you need a break from finding sprinkles in every crevice of the kitchen."

"I think that s long as I get to keep waking up next to you, I can put up with the sprinkles." Phil felt the overwhelming urge to make the invitation more formal, more lasting, but he refrained. They were close, they were learning each other, and he didn't want to turn something that was going smoothly into something awkward. The time would come. For once he felt sure of it, secure in the idea of a future, and he knew that had everything to do with Clint and the idea that the man might really be sticking around as more than just a coworker. Deciding on a smaller gesture that would still hopefully give Clint a deeper feeling of inclusion, he suggested, "I was thinking maybe I could clear out a drawer or two so you don't have to run back to your room for things if you don't want to."

Clint drew back to look at the other man, gaze momentarily surprised before it eased into a smile. "I think I'd like that," he decided, leaning in with a broad grin to steal a quick kiss, his hands still resting on Phil's waist. He felt a little nervously giddy about the idea, small a move as it was. He wondered for a moment just how much Phil would be willing to tolerate his presence, then realized with a slight hint of surprise just how much he'd already been living with his handler. It had started from a fairly logical place: him crashing on Phil's office couch after an op, having a nightmare, or being too banged up to stay by himself for a few nights. But it had eventually turned into him finding reasons to stay, and even before the night club, Clint realized he'd been spending almost as many nights in Phil's suite as his own. "Guess I'll really be refining my coffee making skills, huh?" he asked with an impish grin.

"You're already pretty fantastic, so I think we'll be okay," Phil agreed with a nod. He smiled with relief that Clint was okay with the idea and that it wasn't too much. Clint had become a fixture in the suite, a pleasant part of his daily life, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as he could - as long as Clint wanted the same thing. The first few times Clint had crashed on his couch, Phil realized he'd felt more at home in the room than he had since pulling up stakes and moving into Tony's bizarre headquarters for their little sideshow. He didn't necessarily feel at home in the tower, but he felt at home with Clint. "If you want, we can invite Natasha over tonight. Everybody else will be doing the movie thing, and since she's not likely to go since we aren't going..." As much as Natasha pretended not to need people, he didn't like being part of anything that drove a wedge between her and the team. At least including her in their plans would assuage that guilt somewhat and let her be reassured that they were on the road to okay.

Clint nodded, smiling happily. "I like that idea," he agreed, running a hand down Phil's arm. The man's button-down shirt was soft, and the archer found the texture comforting. Phil looked good in casual clothes. Still in his boxers, Clint felt a little sloppy next to the other man. "Hmm... I think if you keep cleaning up so nicely to get us donuts, I'm gonna need you to go get them more often." He leaned in to brush their cheeks together; Phil hadn't shaved that morning, and the scruff rasped pleasantly against Clint's skin. It was frankly difficult to get enough of touching the other man, and he let out a contented sigh as he drew back. "But, yeah. Maybe the three of us could watch another movie or play some poker or something."

The fleeting touches were enough to set his heart hammering. It didn't have to mean anything or go anywhere. Just being with Clint was enough. His fingers closed on Clint's waist, the soft cotton of his pajama bottoms, and the hard muscle underneath a pleasant contrast. "I'll dress up for you anytime you want," Phil answered, "and the movie or poker or whatever sounds good." At least they could have some team building of their own. He spared a second to have Jarvis invite the Natasha over, and it struck him that he'd interacted with the AI more in the past couple of days than he had since moving in. "I think I'm getting used to this place. Don't tell Stark, but having Jarvis around is kind of nice."

 

"I will keep that between us, sir," Jarvis chimed in before Clint had a chance to reply.

The archer raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, except when he does stuff that makes him seem a little too human," he agreed, glancing up at the ceiling as if to indicate the omnipresent AI. Shaking the unease at that thought, Clint focused instead on the weight of Phil's hands on his waist, the heat of the man's skin soaking through his clothes. He leaned in and nibbled at Phil's lower lip, hooking a leg behind one of Phil's and pulling him closer to Clint's barstool. "Meantime, I think we had some making out, cuddling, and being otherwise completely unproductive to do."

"Did we? You know, I do seem to remember having plans of that nature." Phil let himself be pulled in against Clint's body and leaned into the warm circle of Clint's arms. He rested his head on Clint's shoulder and began lazily kissing the man's neck. "I think we can do that. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's not anything else in the whole world I'd rather do than that." 

 

They spent the afternoon just enjoying. They talked, they napped, they snuggled, they made out a little. It was simple, but it felt good. Creed and Loki had something important taken from them, but it wasn't forever. It was a setback, a roadblock. Clint plucked the book Phil was reading from his hands and wiggled his eyebrows in a way that was definitely more ridiculous than it was sexy. “I think it’s time for more of the kissing parts.”

Phil chuckled and gave in at once. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing you sound so happy about the idea of making out with me. Kind of an ego boost."

"You think this is great, you should see how happy I look when I'm talking about sucking you off," Clint purred in Phil's ear, letting his tongue flick against the man's earlobe. It was a tease, of course, but Clint couldn't resist the urge to drive them both a little crazy. If nothing else, it'd be motivation to make every effort to get to a better place as fast as possible.

Phil's breath caught at the words. "If I didn't l-" He bit back the word. "If I didn't like you so much, I'd hate you." Clint left him feeling shaky in an intoxicating way. He found himself half tempted to step up the time for his next therapy appointment just to get to the part where he and Clint were free and clear to devour each other, but he knew time had as much to do with it all as talk therapy.

Clint gave the other man a wicked grin, oblivious to the near slip; he'd taken it as Phil being flustered. "Pretty sure that's been the context of our entire professional relationship, so why not drag it into this, too?" he asked with a chuckle. He ran his fingers over Phil's jaw, smiling at the feeling of rough stubble there. "You're getting scruffy. I kinda like it. Can't decide if I like you better all sharp and suited up or all stubbly and rugged." He leaned against the other man, pulling Phil as close as he could, his legs hooking behind the man's thighs and pulling him in as well as Clint buried his face in his handler's neck. "Think maybe I just like you."

"That's good to hear because shaving sounds suspiciously like work right now," Phil answered, smiling at the feeling of Clint curled in against him and the man's legs twined around his own. It brought to him rather clearly the images of times in the future when they would be in the same position for entirely different reasons. Someday they would be fine, be adjusted, be able to breathe through the fear, and Phil let himself imagine it for a second. He sighed happily at the thought and slid a hand up to the back of Clint's head to enjoy even more the closeness between the two of them. "I think I just plain like you too."

Clint smiled broadly at the words, feeling oddly giddy. "I'm glad, then. 'Cause it's really hard to find people who like me, especially after I've passed out drunk on their couch a few times," he said, nuzzling the other man's neck. It felt good to simply affirm what they each knew. "But, yeah... I think I pretty well like everything about you. Except maybe when you yell at me for not listening." He blushed a little. "But I kinda like bringing you coffee afterwards." He grinned a little more broadly. "The makeup sex is gonna be great."

"After finding out what you can do, I think we'll need to raise the stakes to coffee and a blow job when you ignore orders and fall asleep during meetings," Phil decided with a smirk. Somehow he doubted it would act as much of a deterrent for the archer, but he knew it would go a long way toward keeping him from strangling Clint when he screwed up. "At least now when you get hurt, I don't have to pretend I'm not going crazy."

Clint smirked. "You weren't doing a great job of it, anyway," he said, the smirk turning to a grin at Phil's look of surprise. "Well, I mean, nobody else seemed to notice. But I could tell. I mean, for one thing, you've always pretty much lived at my bedside when I get banged up. And the whole volunteering to take care of me when the docs say I shouldn't be alone. And the corners of your mouth do this thing when you're really upset."

"Do they, now?" Phil returned, tone dry. He'd always thought he played it off rather well, but apparently Clint really had been watching him. His attempts to play it casual when it came to Clint's life being in danger had obviously been in vain. "You're a lot of trouble, Barton. Just stop getting hurt. At least for a month. One month with no hospital visits." Frankly after what they'd been through, Phil wondered how exactly he'd handle it the next time one of his orders left Clint flat on his back with a broken limb or two. It happened often enough that the possibility was less a potential one than an inevitable one. "I really wish I could wrap you in bubble wrap and still know you'd be able to do your job."

Clint chuckled. "Might make it a little difficult. I'd be all crinkly and not stealthy. And I feel like it might get caught in the quiver mechanisms and cause things to jam." He couldn't help but laugh a little at the visual. "But I promise. No broken anything for a month. Which basically means I'm going to have to just stay here and make out with you for a month, 'cause that's about the only thing I feel like doing that has zero chance of me breaking something."

"Furniture, maybe," Phil replied contemplatively, then smiled broadly at the other man. "I think I'm willing to take that risk." He slid his hands down to Clint's ass and gave a firm squeeze. "I'm definitely willing to take that risk. Therapy, kissing.... Your official assignment, Agent Barton, is to spend the next month not getting hurt and being entirely inappropriate with your handler. Think you can manage that?"

"Sure can, boss," Clint promised, his voice a little breathy with Phil's hands possessively kneading his ass. "'Specially when you put it that way." He smiled darkly at the other man. "Pretty sure I could be a lot better at doing what I'm told if you grabbed hold of me like that every time you gave me an order. So... promise. No breaking anything but furniture."

"I think I would've been a lot more likely to grab your ass like this if I didn't think it would've resulted in a sexual harassment suit." They'd both been painfully blind to what they could be together, and Phil hated that fact. He hated that they'd let so many opportunities slide right by them without ever taking the time to consider what could be. "Good. If you keep to your orders, I promise that once we're both ready, I will not only grab your ass in the office - when we're completely alone and the door is shut - but if the door is locked, I'll grab plenty of other things too."

Clint leaned in, kissing the other man long and slow before leaning in to whisper in his ear, "I'll hold you to that, boss," he said slowly, placing an odd emphasis on the last word. He raked his teeth lightly against Phil's neck before drawing away. "Have a feeling I might be a lot more pliant with things being grabbed. And, y'know, you probably would've gotten a sexual harassment charge. For getting fucked right in front of everyone." He smirked wickedly.

Phil's breath caught at the words, and it took true self restraint not to launch himself at Clint and kiss him senseless. "I'm fairly certain that would either be the absolute best or the absolute worst thing for employee morale ever," he finally allowed. He couldn't help but linger as close as humanly possible to Clint, to drink in every last touch. The sound of the door reminded him that they'd actually invited company. "I'll get it."

Natasha took a long look at her handler, flushed, hair mussed, and unshaven, and smirked. "There's going to be a revolting honeymoon phase, isn't there?"

"You have only yourself to blame." Phil stepped aside and let the woman in. It was always strange somehow seeing Natasha dressed down. Normally even at her most casual she kept on a hoodie or a jacket or something else as virtual armor. For the evening, she'd come in just jeans and a t-shirt, and she looked younger and more vulnerable than he was used to. "This is more or less your fault."

"Please. All I did was finally make you idiots stop dancing around the obvious."

"I don't know if you could say we were dancing. More like carefully tiptoeing. Or in my case, just drastically suppressing the obvious," Clint noted, apparently shameless in spite of having nothing but a pair of boxers on. It wasn't as if Nat hadn't seen far more of him than that, anyway. He slid off the couch, though, and padded back into the bedroom. Grabbing the gray sweatpants medical had given him the day before, he tugged them on before moving back into the living area. He sidled up to Phil and put his arm around the man's waist, smiling impishly at Nat. "But he's right. Any googly eyes or games of grab-ass are entirely within the realm of your fault."

Natasha faked a full body shudder, then smiled at the pair of them. "I think I'd be more disgusted if you didn't both look so happy. I'm not used to seeing you this relaxed." Considering what they'd been through it stood out even more, and she felt a rush of relief. Together they'd survive all the hell that Creed had put them through. "Glad you invited me. It gave me a good excuse not to let May drag me to movie night. Of course," Natasha allowed, "she did make a point that it made sense to keep an eye on the slimy Asgardian bastard. I'm just not interested in being that close voluntarily yet."

"I'm not sure I ever will be." Just thinking about it made Phil's throat tighten. He understood to some degree the potential usefulness. He understood that Fury was giving a lot of latitude to Stark, was trusting his opinion that Loki could be redeemed. He also understood that the idea of being trapped in a room with the man who'd killed him and handed them over to Creed for torture sounded like his personal idea of hell. "I appreciate the show of solidarity, but for the record, I trust your instincts. If you change your mind next time, I have no intention of holding that against you."

Nat smiled. She'd expected nothing less, but it was still good to hear. "I know. I make my own calls sometimes."

"Like pretty much all the time," Clint pointed out, smirking a little. He couldn't help leaning in a little closer to Phil and nibbling at the man's neck, even though he knew it might make their handler feel a little awkward. Frankly, it was hard to resist the chance to make Phil blush. It was too damned endearing. He was surprised to know that he looked more relaxed, but he supposed it made sense. He felt good around Phil, content. Sexual frustration and trauma aside, the man really did make him feel more like he had a home than anything else had in a long damned time.

Natasha snorted as Phil turned a rather pretty shade of pink. She noticed that he didn't exactly shove Clint off, though, instead leaning into his touch. "Yep, you two are disgusting. Adorable, but disgusting." Smirking, Natasha crossed to begin flipping her way through the recommended section of Netflix. "You must watch some truly bizarre things, Phil. I didn't even know there were documentaries about body farms."

"Professional interest," Phil answered smoothly, his arm sliding around Clint's waist. "It's actually a great documentary. There are a couple, but that one's more unflinching."

Clint grimaced even as he let Phil pull him in close. "Sounds gross. Not that I haven't seen any bodies in my time, but... I dunno. Not what I wanna look at in my off time." He watched the screen as Nat flipped through the list, raising an amused eyebrow at Phil. "Well, the ones about body art explain our date," he remarked, grinning a little at the memory.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, and Phil read the question. "We went to a tattoo festival. There was music too," he assured almost defensively.

The woman's smirk spread into a full blown smile. "Is this your way of telling me you already have Clint's name tattooed on your ass? Because I'll need to see proof if that's the case."

"Nat-"

"Hush. I know you. If you ever do decide to get something done, it won't be impulsive. You'll spend two years researching before you even pick an artist, let alone a design." Natasha tilted her head and stared curiously at Clint. 'What about you?"

Clint shrugged. "Nothing yet," he said, winking. "Not that impulsive. At least, not sober." He leaned against Phil a little harder, grinning wickedly. "Might get a tie tattooed on my ass cheek, though. Y'know, after awhile." He said it lightly, only half-serious, though he knew the implications were a lot deeper. "More importantly, though, there was a lot of really great making out."

Phil tried and failed to keep from blushing, and he didn't even have to see Natasha's face to know she was laughing. "I'm about to revoke both of your invitations to this room," he warned. The threat lacked any authority whatsoever thanks to Clint's warm body curved in against his own. It felt too good and too right. "Well, maybe not his. But yours," he warned, waving a finger in Natasha's direction.

"Nope. Barton and I are a package deal, boss man. I'm fairly certain that's in my contract. Besides, you don't have to clean up after me." Natasha waved toward the empty expanse of couch beside her. "Sit down, you two. Any viewing requests, or am I in charge?"

"I'll let you decide. As long as it doesn't require too much thinking or having feelings, because I'm not up for either right now when it comes to movies," Clint decided, dragging Phil to the couch, nudging him back onto it, and then flopping down beside the man. He wasted no time in molding himself to Phil's body, his arm curling around his handler's waist and his head resting on the man's shoulder. "But I guess if it's really terrible, I'll just sit over here and put my hands in inappropriate places."

"No," Natasha said firmly, though she heeded Clint's suggestion and selected an action movie that looked appropriately entertaining and mindless, something involving Jason Statham and a lot of guns.

Next to her, Phil found himself hard pressed to care at all what took place on screen. He was fixated on Clint's warm, pliable form against his own. Somehow with a few disasters along the way, he'd ended up with a lap full of Clint Barton and a heart that felt full for the first time in years.

Clint quietly watched the movie with the pair, gradually shifting until he was laying across Coulson's lap with his legs dangling off the arm of the couch. He felt relaxed, safe, and content for the first time in days, and it was difficult to care any more than Phil did about the movie. Before it was halfway over, he was asleep and snoring softly in Phil's lap.

Phil felt the shift as Clint's weight went from relaxed to dead against him, but he didn't stop stroking the man's hair. He was so lost in the movement and the warmth that he didn't even notice at first that Natasha was staring at him. He glanced up and caught her gaze. "What?" he asked softly, not really wanting to disturb Clint. He needed the rest, god knew.

"He's going to need you a lot through this," Natasha answered quietly.

"I know. I need him too."

She pursed her lips and gave a slight shake of her head. "It isn't the same."

Phil didn't really want to go into it, but he sighed and allowed, "I know. I know it's not the same. I know that the way I hate Loki isn't even the same."

"He lost himself for awhile. I'm not sure he's over it yet." Natasha knew it wasn't the time, but there might not be another one. "Loki being here.... I hate it, but he needs to know that it doesn't mean he'll lose himself again. He needs to know that it doesn't mean he'll lose you."

Phil swallowed hard. It hurt to think about, but he nodded because she was right. "I know. I do, Nat. I know. I understand, and I'm.... I won't let him get hurt if I can help it." His hand slid from Clint's hair over his back in a soft, soothing gesture of comfort. "I'm not going anywhere."

Clint shifted as Phil's hand stroked over his back, smiling faintly. "S'good," he muttered, having missed all but the the very last sentence of their conversation. "Might miss you if you do go somewhere, boss." He rolled to his back to look up at Phil, stretching and yawning a little before smiling up first at Phil and then at Nat. "I like this. Movies together. We should do this more."

Natasha reached down, stroking a hand over Clint's hair affectionately. She knew Phil well enough to know he would take it as it was intended. She'd been clear enough that what she wanted was for the two of them to be happy - staying out of the way was the way to do that, but romantic detachment didn't mean she didn't care. "I think that can be arranged."

"Definitely." Rather than wanting to push Natasha out of his space, Phil felt at ease with just the three of them relaxing together. It was something he knew and enjoyed and understood. "I guess eventually we'll have to leave this room and deal with the world. I'm kind of glad it doesn't have to be today."

"Yeah. Today's way too soon," Clint agreed, reaching for Phil's hand and lacing their fingers together. He pulled the man's hand up to brush his lips to the knuckles, smiling warmly at him. He felt like the center of attention for the moment, and it was a good feeling. "I'm thinking we could pencil in leaving for somewhere around next fall. I have a stash of survival rations that should hold us over. And Nat can bring us more beer."

"Will I? Hmm. I might bring Coulson more beer," she agreed after a pause to think. The woman gave Clint's hair a sharp jerk that wasn't nearly violent enough to cause any real pain. "I'm not sure you deserve it simply on the basis of having made that assumption."

Coulson's gaze never wandered from Clint's face because there was nothing else he wanted to see. He was constantly aware of Natasha, warm and soft at his side, but he watched Clint. "You're lucky you're pretty. She'll probably give you a pass in the end."

Natasha's gaze narrowed, but she didn't disagree. "It's annoying when you know me that well."

"I know how good he is at talking me into things." The man's lip twitched, and he flashed Natasha a fond smile. "If he can talk me into it, he can talk you into it."

"Fair enough. Fine, I'll bring you beer, but we all know that Steve will get protective and come drag you out to socialize long before then. We leave him in charge for a reason."

"Hey, if you're gonna pull my hair, you definitely have to bring me beer. Or buy me dinner," Clint teased. It was a joke and nothing more, and he hoped Phil would understand that much. "And Phil's right. I'm about the only person that can talk you into doing things. Only fair, since you've used your scary mind powers on me more than once. And smacked my head against a railing." He sighed. "But you're right. Rogers'll drag us out of here in probably a day or two if he doesn't see us." He sighed. "Maybe we could deter him. Maybe tomorrow we actually should go feed the ducks," he said, looking up at Phil with a faintly teasing glimmer in his eyes.

Natasha arched an eyebrow but didn't bother asking. The men were sharing a smile that suggested she probably shouldn't intrude for the moment whether the duck thing was a euphemism or not. 

"We can do that. It won't stop him from coming after us," Phil cautioned, knowing that Steve wasn't going to let his team fracture no matter how badly they wanted to pull away, "but it might be nice to see sunlight." It wouldn't do to let themselves turn the apartment into another cell. They were free men and lucky to be that way. "At some point we'll be required by some kind of law in some paperwork we signed to actually appear around people that we know. Even if it means seeing people we don't particularly want to see."

Clint's expression darkened as the first "person" to cross his mind was Loki. His gaze drifted away from Phil and Natasha, fixing on the ceiling as he tensed and tried not to think about it. Creed's assault had been nothing less than traumatic, but Loki's constant presence still reminded him of far worse. The god's steel grip on his arm, the touch of the scepter, and the sense of losing himself. And all the horror that had followed. The killing. And the worst was giving himself to Loki's whims, on every level, in every way. Wanting it, even. Clint shivered a little in Coulson's lap, his gaze a million miles away.

"Shhh, you're okay." The words came without thought, and Phil's fingers curled around Clint's. He watched as Natasha's carded through the man's hair. Her eyes had taken on a glazed look. He wasn't sure if it was memories or tears clouding her vision. "I won't ever let him touch you again. That's a promise." Whether he knew how to keep it or not, Phil wasn't going to let any potential alliances keep him from protecting Clint. He'd walk away from SHIELD forever before he let Loki get too close. "You're my top priority."

Natasha nodded even though she doubted Clint would look up long enough to see it. "We're a team. You two maybe a little more," she allowed, tone momentarily lighter, "but you know better than to think I'd let anyone hurt you but me."

The gentle touch of Phil's fingers curling around his own was enough to bring Clint back to reality, and he squeezed the digits as hard as he dared. He smiled at the reassurances of protection, even more broadly at Nat's caveat to the promise. "Well, I guess I can count on you to smack my head against something solid if I need a reboot again anytime soon," he said with a faintly rueful smile. He finally forced himself to sit up somewhat, though he still leaned heavily against Phil's side and leaned in to kiss the man's jaw. "Maybe if we just stand back to back when he's around we'll feel okay."

"Sounds cozy," Natasha answered, "but crazy. Nutjobs like Loki can smell fear. We aren't going to be afraid of him." She caught the look on Clint's face and arched one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "Stark thinks he's safe to join the team. I trust Stark roughly as far as I can throw him, but I'm in decent shape, so that gives him just a bit of leeway. From what May told me, Stark seems to think that Loki just needs a place to fit in."

"He's welcome to one. Somewhere else."

The comment was petty even if it did happen to be in line with Natasha's personal feelings on the matter, so she ignored it. "The real point is that if Loki is low enough right now that even Stark can pick up on it, he's in a bad place. He's in a bad enough place that..." She sighed and reluctantly ventured, "He's in a bad enough place that Stark might not be entirely wrong."

Clint's look of surprise gradually hardened into something far darker as he glowered at Natasha. "He brought it on himself, Nat," he ground out between clenched teeth. "He uses people. That's what he does. We're all just insects to him. Pests with pathetic, short lives that he couldn't care less about." Realizing he was shaking, Clint took a deep breath and settled back into the couch, forcing himself to relax. "He's not gonna fit in here. He's used too many of us as his personal toys."

Natasha didn't look bothered or affronted for even a moment. She met Clint's gaze evenly and then shifted in closer to him, her fingers closing over his free hand. "You might be right. I just want us all to consider the fact that no matter how stupid an idea we think this is, Tony thinks it has merit, Fury thinks it has strategic value, and considering the fact that we're all here, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Steve adopted every stray cat that showed up on his doorstep when he was a kid."

"He was allergic," Phil answered, the response automatic, reflexive, and he had the grace to look faintly embarrassed a second later. "But point taken. This is a one day at a time scenario on a lot of levels. right now, I just think it's fair that I be firmly on the record as 'decidedly uncomfortable'."

Clint cut his eyes at Phil in response to the allergy comment, the look overtly judgmental, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He couldn't get jealous over Phil's fixation with the Cap; it was too intrinsically part of Phil to be painstakingly familiar of all the details of anything he had a passion for. The archer knew that Phil probably had just as many seemingly irrelevant details about Clint stored away in his brain. "If that's the case, I'm going firmly on the record as 'if he touches me, I will get the hammer out of storage and you will be picking Asgardian out of the carpet for the next six weeks'."

"Good. I'm sure once he's back on duty, Coulson will file the appropriate paperwork," Natasha assured him with the faintest hint of a smile. It was comforting to her to see that the men were both fighting the good fight emotionally, still strong and joking instead of retreating into silence. She didn't intend to let them retreat. "In the meantime, I'll make sure we have an appropriate amount of guards watching that stupid hammer because the last thing we need is you going berserk in the Tower."

Coulson smirked. "You do plenty of damage without divine intervention. For a few days, we'll just stay out of it, feed the ducks, see how the chips fall. Then we can take stock."

"And other idioms," Clint said with a smirk, tugging Phil close for a kiss that ended up lasting longer and being far more intimate than he'd intended considering Nat's presence and proximity. He didn't bother apologizing, though. He needed the contact. Blue eyes a little darker than before and lips slightly parted, Clint drew away, clearly taking a moment before his brain caught up. He looked at Nat and smirked as if nothing had happened. "And I'm not going after the hammer. Probably. I mean, not unless Loki starts hanging out on our floor. In which case, all bets are off."

"Then you can definitely put an arrow through his eye," she agreed mildly, obviously not bothered by the idea. It was the least Loki deserved even if there was the unfortunate chance that he'd heal from such a wound. 

Phil glanced over in annoyance when a knock sounded at the door. He sighed, considered not moving, and finally disentangled himself to shuffle over and open it. He almost regretted the decision when he saw Darien standing there. "Fawkes."

"Hey. Look, I'm sorry to intrude, but everybody said that Clint was laying low here, and I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

It was a sweet sentiment even if Phil heard the words with a rather intense filter of jealousy. He took a breath and calmed himself, forcing a pleasant smile. "Clint, you up to a visitor?"

Clint raised an eyebrow, wondering who would be there to visit him considering his two favorite people were already there. He glanced at Nat and then pushed himself up from the couch. He felt his heart sink a little at the sight of Darien. "Hey," he said, feeling a bit of shame burning his cheeks. "Uh... been awhile, huh?" He was surprised to see the other man, in truth. Theirs had been a relationship more of physical need than anything. Or at least, that was how Clint had taken it. He hadn't missed the occasional more-than-platonic look, but certainly Clint wouldn't have expected Darien to hunt him down. Clint gave Phil a look that he hoped made it clear he wasn't getting ready to run off with Darien before leaning against the doorframe. "So, what brings you up here?" //Other than the fact that I haven't been in my room in weeks and surely the rumor mill's gone around the block a couple times telling you all kinds of horrific half-truths about why that is…//

Darien shuffled his feet and shrugged. "I... well, I heard you got hurt on a mission. Just kinda wanted to see for myself that you're in one piece." He looked up and took in the bruises and scrapes visible even with Clint mostly covered. His hand rose as if to touch one of them and then fell again, a quick glance sliding toward Nat and Phil on the couch. "Kinda worried. The rumor mill around here's pretty harsh."

Phil's jaw clenched, and he tried to force his body to relax when Natasha's slim fingers closed around his wrist. He caught her warning glance and gave a nod of acknowledgment. However Clint wanted to deal with it was his decision, but it was difficult to accept how soon they were having to answer to others about what they'd been through. Add to that the fact that Clint and Darien probably hadn't talked since - he tried hard not to picture Darien sucking the man off in the kitchen and failed horribly - the whole thing happened, and it all became very awkward and more than slightly uncomfortable.

Clint tensed against the doorframe, his arms folding over his chest as his jaw clenched. "Hurt," he echoed, more sharply than he'd intended. 'Hurt' seemed like oversimplifying everything they'd gone through in the past few days. Hurt was getting put in traction while Coulson and the nurses yelled at him to stay still and take his medicine. In the past few days, Clint's mind and body had been used and violated in ways he couldn't even explain to the average person. The archer took a deep breath, fighting to keep from showing too much. "Yeah. Yeah, we got hurt." He realized a second later that he'd said 'we' and not 'I', but it was a little late to try and reel that back in. "Whatever the rumors are, though... I'm okay. I will be. Eventually."

He tilted his head at Darien then as something else sank in. "You were worried, huh?" He sounded less touched and more surprised. Again, the nagging sense of guilt tickled at the back of his mind. He knew he'd likely sort of disappeared from Darien's perspective, and he knew that the other man had maybe been hoping for more from their relationship. Clint reached up and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It was... uh... it was pretty rough." He knew he wasn't showing any real outward signs. A few scrapes, some bruises. He knew he'd looked worse. He hoped that Darien wouldn't press for a better explanation.

Sensing the tension, Darien decided it was probably better not to ask for a full rundown. "I'm glad you're in one piece, more or less. The way people talked... I mean, I heard the fight, but that didn't give the people in the booth a lot of idea what happened after." He'd run the data, made the transcripts with the rest of them, and hated like hell the fact that he'd been surfing a desk instead of helping even when things went to hell in a handbasket. "I was the one that took Rogers down to medical." It wasn't that the fact mattered, he just needed something to say to fill the odd silence. Darien rolled his eyes and decided to go for broke. "Anyway, I missed you. I know you're not, like, my boyfriend or anything, but we've had fun. I wouldn't mind having fun again, and I figured I should make sure you're still breathing before I made a booty call. Would've been kinda tacky otherwise."

Clint felt his gut clench. Really, he hadn't expected anything different considering the other man had come looking for him. That didn't make him feel like any less of an ass, didn't make the situation any less uncomfortable. "Look, uh..." He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tried to find a gentle way to put what he had on his mind. "I don't think... Well, I don't think that's gonna... happen. Us having fun." He felt his skin flush with guilt as he rubbed at the back of his neck again. "Some of the things that happened when I was captured just kinda... and..." His gaze shifted, unbidden, to where Phil sat on the couch before he jerked his eyes back to Darien, hoping the other man hadn't caught the slip, or at least hadn't realize what it had meant. The last thing Clint wanted was for Darien to think he was being replaced as a fuck buddy. Phil was far more than that. "You could say I'm not real comfortable with intimacy right now." //Especially not with someone who's not Phil.//

Darien wasn't stupid, and the implications of the words hit him hard. "Oh... shit. I... I really didn't..." He'd caught Clint's look of horror at the idea of gossip, and that suddenly made a lot more sense. "If it helps, the rumor mill's not hitting anywhere in the vicinity of right. I'll make sure they keep not doing that," he added softly. "It's fine. No hard feelings. If you ever want somebody to not have fun with - y'know, a friend thing? That's cool too." It hurt to think he was too far removed to help, but Darien was glad that at least Clint was leveling with him. 

Phil didn't realize how relieved he probably looked until he felt Natasha's fingers soothing over the knots in his neck. Her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "He's not just saying no because of what happened."

"I know," he answered softly, soaking in the warmth of the idea that Clint really had chosen him. 

At the door, Darien shuffled his feet and tried to think of a way to say more or offer more. Finally he shook his head and smiled ruefully. He nodded toward the pair on the couch. "I'm guessing you have plenty of friends, but, y'know, if you need a back up in the roster."

Clint nodded. "It, uh... it does kinda help knowing that the rumor mill hasn't figured out what... what happened," he agreed, taking a deep breath. He glanced back at Phil and Nat, then fixed his gaze on Darien. The guy meant well. He was also a far cry from someone he'd known so long and so well that he was ready to invite the man into their inner circle. "I... yeah." He swallowed hard. "I mean, no offense, but right now, kinda trying to keep it low-key. Hiding from everyone kinda thing. But I really do appreciate it. You coming to check on me. Maybe the four of us can get a beer sometime?" It felt lame, but Clint had no idea what to say. He wasn't going to invite Darien into their circle, but it seemed mean to simply dismiss well-intended concern.

As let downs went, it was a gentle one, but it still stung like hell. Darien forced a smile. "Sure. Sounds good. I'll just get out of your hair, but... enjoy laying low." He opened his mouth and realized that he had nothing left to say, so he settled on a brief wave before heading back down the hall.

Even listening to the exchange had been painful. Phil suddenly felt glad that his own romantic life had been so very unromantic in his recent history. It made it easier. The only person he had to answer to on any level was Clint, who understood the issues at hand intimately. Phil rose from the couch and met the man halfway. He carefully drew Clint in against him and offered a smile. He didn't have the faintest idea what to say. A gentle kiss did just as well, his hand lingering at the back of Clint's neck even as their lips parted. "You okay?"

Clint nodded, resting his forehead against Phil's and heaving a sigh. "Yeah. Just... Yeah, but that was... I mean, I... We're... I'm not going anywhere," he asserted, taking one of Phil's hands and holding tight. "But still... Darien's a good guy. Feel bad, kinda just... Well, guess I could've at least sent him a text and let him know that we were done sooner." He sighed again, pressing his lips to Phil's. "But, y'know... This is kinda making it not feel as bad." That wasn't the only thing, of course. Having to even circuitously explain what had happened to Darien had been unpleasant to say the least. Shivering a little at the thought, Clint pressed his face to Phil's neck and wrapped his arms around the man's waist, holding tight as if Coulson was the only anchor he had to reality.

"You shouldn't feel bad. We've been... it's been busy. Keeping our heads above water has been time consuming. Maybe when things are settled, you can take him up on the friendship thing." Phil wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, but he wasn't so jealous that he didn't trust Clint to make the right decisions. "It might be good for both of you."

"All your friends right now are crazy people. For an ex con, Darien seems relatively normal," Natasha agreed from the couch. "Given that I'm here and neither one of you is having a panic attack about it, apparently being friends with exes is something you can both handle."

Phil turned and gave her a look. "You're something of an exception."

"I'm obviously exceptional. That's beside the point." She patted the couch. "Sit. Decompress. Our movie night isn't done yet."

Clint more or less dragged Phil back to the couch, feeling suddenly rather clingy. He sat down and then dragged Phil next to him, making sure the other man was situated so close that he was a breath away from being in Clint's lap. A slight shift, and Clint had his head pressed to Phil's chest. He sighed quietly, soothed once again to be pressed between Nat and his handler. "And yeah, you're definitely the exception, Nat. I feel like the friendship route with him might be a little awkward, all told. But... you know, when I'm feeling more well adjusted... maybe."

Natasha snorted, earning herself a raised eyebrow from Coulson. "Sorry, just trying to picture a well-adjusted version of Clint. It's like trying to imagine him as a unicorn. It just doesn't work." She patted the hand of the man in question. "It's alright. Some of us just weren't made to be any kind of sane. If it helps, you're probably more interesting crazy." 

Unable to help himself, Phil joined in the gentle laughter and kissed Clint's hair. "She has a point. I'm fairly certain we wouldn't have much left personality wise if we excised all the parts of ourselves that are a bit extreme. I like you the way you are whether that means being friends with Darien or not. If you decide to be, though... it really is okay with me. I trust you."

"You shouldn't. He's probably imagining me naked right now. Of course, you probably are too, so I suppose it's fine. It's hard not to, really," Natasha answered with a rueful shake of her head.

"Well, I mean, picturing you with clothes on is just sorta pointless, isn't it? Also kinda hard to not do when I've actually seen you naked," Clint pointed out, trying to give Phil an innocent look when the man cut his eyes at him. He pouted at Nat. "Besides, I'm completely trustworthy. For the most part. Generally." He sighed. "Okay, well, I'm not gonna run off with anyone, anyway." More sincerely, he offered Phil a smile, tugging the man in for a kiss. "For one thing, I've got you. For another thing, you've already come back from the dead once, and I don't like my chances if I piss you off."

"Aww, so sweet. Almost. Which is pretty good for you," Phil observed. He kept his arms around Clint despite his complaints. 

Natasha leaned her head against Clint's shoulder, happy to complete their little circle. "You're lucky he made it, Barton. No one else would have put up with you for this long, not to mention agreeing to put up with you off the clock too. Before now, I thought I was the only one crazy enough to do that."

"Almost dying probably liquified a few brain cells. I can't say I miss them."

"I feel like I should be offended by all that, but I can't be bothered," Clint decided, instinctively threading his fingers into Nat's hair while the other hand tugged Phil in for another quick kiss. He smirked. "And don't go blaming putting up with me on brain damage, 'cause you did it even before..." Clint felt his throat tighten at the thought of saying it directly. He knew it wouldn't offend Phil, but it hurt a little too much to stay on that particular topic. "Well, you've been with me for over a decade. I think you might just have a thing for pain."

 

"Or he's an idiot," Nat supplied helpfully. It didn't stop her from affectionately trailing her fingers through Clint's hair. "Considering you also slept with me, though, Clint may have a point."

Phil raised an eyebrow and looked across Clint at the woman. "I think you're overselling the level of viciousness involved in that. I don't recall anything but-"

Natasha held up one warning finger. "I have a reputation to uphold. Watch what you say." She patted Clint's head. "Little pitchers have big ears."

Clint raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. "So, wait. You're telling me that Nat was actually gentle with you?" he asked Phil, clearly amused by the thought. He glanced at Nat. "Just couldn't traumatize him that badly, huh?" Clint didn't begrudge Phil the fact one bit. The archer certainly preferred a little roughness, or at least being dominated, when it came to Nat. 

"I might not go that far. Gentle is a strong word for it," Phil answered, though he lost his thread of thought entirely at the touch of Clint's lips to his throat. Even with everything they'd been through and Natasha crammed in on the couch against them, his pulse still raced at the touch. "I just wasn't that bruised the next day is all."

The redhead smiled warmly. "I like you. I liked you then too. Maybe not as much, but I did. It seemed too soon in our professional relationship to break you, whereas this one," she gave a sharp tug at Clint's hair, "seemed to prefer it." Natasha shrugged. "It's my job to read people. Since Clint seems to have taken up being a professional punching bag a lot of the time, it all lines up rather well."

Clint couldn't help but blush a little. Even knowing that Phil had had probably a better view than he'd have liked of Clint's personal life after the battle with Loki, it still felt a little... revealing to have Nat say something so intimate about their interactions. "Yeah, well, only with you," he said, then realized that encouraging that line of conversation might not have been the best idea. He glanced sheepishly at Phil. "Haven't gotten to try yet, but I think I'd be okay with it with you, too." His mind involuntarily flashed back to a few moments with Creed and Loki, and he cringed faintly. "Uh... might take a little... working into, though." He hadn't missed the glazed expression Phil had gotten when he'd kissed the man's throat, though, and he smirked faintly. He leaned up and brushed his lips to his lover's skin once more, nuzzling against light stubble a moment later. It didn't occur to him to have any sense of shame that Nat was pressed to one side of him, his arm around her waist, mirroring the one around Phil's, and his fingers tightening against them both. With both of them there, Clint felt as safe as he expected he could, and true shame didn't factor in.

Natasha found herself watching the show a bit more intently than was strictly polite. The truth was that not many things ruffled Phil, and an even smaller set of people could manage it. Clint had him well on his way to panting within moments. It was undeniably hot and undeniably sexy, and finally she groaned. "Alright, boys, I'm leaving you alone. No," she cut in before Phil could apologize politely. "No, you should definitely be making out and enjoying every second of it. I'm just not up for watching anymore until you two are in the right frame of mind to consider a threesome." She winked at them and then slipped off of the couch gracefully. "Don't worry, I know how to make my own fun." 

Phil wanted to protest, but he didn't at the same time. He curled his fingers against Clint's waist instead and listened for the click of the door that meant Natasha was gone. "I guess we were being a bit self-centered. I should probably be more contrite than I am. I kind of just want you to start doing that again."

Clint smirked, nuzzling against Phil's jaw. "Well, at least she left because she couldn't handle the sexual tension rather than because she was put off by all the affection," he said, licking a line down Phil's throat. He pushed the other man's shirt aside to nibble at his collarbone, then gave up on holding back and straddled Phil's lap. Clint gently brushed his lips to Phil's and sighed quietly. "Let me know if... If we need to stop at any point, okay?"

"I kind of keep hoping we won't have to," Phil admitted with a hint of a smile. It scared him, the thought of having to hold back from something that felt so good with someone he l- someone he cared so much about. "Let's see how we do." The warm, comforting weight of Clint's body over his own certainly wasn't a bad thing, and Clint seemed determined to experiment until he found every spot that made Phil's knees go weak. Even as Phil thought that, the other man found a spot along his jawline that made him gasp. "I'd really, really hate to have to stop you from doing that."

Clint was relieved to have Phil's tacit permission to try a little more. He wasn't sure how well he'd handle more intensive interactions himself, but he wasn't going to pass up the invitation. "Me, too, boss," he agreed with a smile. He went back to the spot that had drawn such a strong reaction from his lover, relaxing fully against Phil's body. His hands stroked through Phil's hair and trailed down to rest on the man's shoulders, and Clint shifted his hips, rocking lightly against the other man. Even that bit of contact was enough to send a jolt through him, and he whimpered softly against Phil's stubbled skin.

Phil breathed through the intensity of the moment. He wanted to let things get wildly out of control, but he wanted even more to keep doing what they were doing. That didn't stop him from getting half hard at the whimper from Clint and the way the other man's hips shifted restlessly against his own. It didn't take any stretch of imagination to picture them in the same position, both fully naked with Clint riding his cock. He filed the fantasy away for later when they were ready. In the meantime, he ran soothing hands over Clint's back and then down to his ass, cupping it and hoping that it wasn't too much.

Clint softly rumbled his approval of the move, nipping lightly at Phil's earlobe before running his tongue along the ridge of the man's ear. He could feel Phil's cock stirring against him, and the sense of that thick shaft pressing against his own burgeoning cock brought to mind their tryst in the night club as well as a few fantasies of what they could do right then and there. Keeping in mind that it'd likely be too soon for either of them and certainly for Phil, Clint instead carefully slipped his fingers up under Phil's shirt, letting himself explore the lean-muscled torso beneath. "You feel good," he murmured against Phil's neck.

 

Phil hummed his agreement. Clint felt perfect. Though he still wasn't sure that Clint would want what he wanted when the dust of all they'd been through cleared, he felt more hopeful than he'd ever dared to feel about the idea of their having a real future. Clint might really want to be with him. They might honestly have something. The swirling thoughts about Clint and about them overwhelmed any other concerns, and Phil parted his lips as warm fingers climbed up his torso. His own hands were busy working their way up over Clint's ass and to the bare skin of the man's back beneath his shirt.

Clint moaned as they gently explored each other's mouths. His his continued to shift, and soon he was shivering with need, but he didn't demand more. He knew Phil likely wasn't ready for it. Clint wasn't even sure that he was ready for it. Instead, he reluctantly broke the kiss to tug off his t-shirt, wanting to give Phil as much of him to touch as he could. His hands tugged at Phil's shirt until it was unbuttoned, and his hands were immediately trailing over Phil's bared torso. It reminded him of the first time they'd done the same thing, Clint perched atop Phil's lap, the two of them making out until they were both feeling desperate. Except then they'd held back in the interest of getting off on the right foot. Clint halfway regretted it, wishing they'd just taken the time when they had it, when Creed wasn't haunting them both. Clint shook the thoughts away as his hands slid to Phil's neck and he pressed a few more kisses to the man's lips.

Phil smiled up at Clint between kisses and stroked a hand up over Clint's back. He was mostly bare in front of the man. He was exposed, and Phil was comforted to realize that he wasn't terrified. He felt safe. "I think... I don't want to push either, and we can stop anytime. Seriously, anytime, but... I think... maybe we could try a little more tonight." They'd missed out on a chance to do things when it was fresh and easy and nothing stood in their way. They had to rebuild. Refresh. If anyone could do it, Phil knew that they could because by virtue of the lives they lived. They'd survived things that other people might never survive. "I'd like to touch you," Phil admitted quietly, "if you're okay with it."

Clint thought for a half second before he nodded. The way Phil asked and the gentle kisses had him relaxed, and he was aching for relief besides. "Please,” he murmured softly, nuzzling at Phil's throat. He was nervous, but more worried he'd have to stop his lover than that Phil wanted to touch him. Much as he'd been dying for Phil's hands on every inch of him, the moment of truth was something else. Still, his body seemed to have no hesitation on the issue, and his hips rocked subtly in anticipation. "Need it. Need you."

Despite the shudder that ran through Clint's body and the way his hips surged, Phil felt the hesitation and uncertainty. He cupped Clint's cheek and offered a warm smile. "The second you want to stop or I want to stop, we stop. No questions." He followed the words with a soft kiss even as his free hand slid down toward the growing bulge at the front of Clint's boxers. Phil felt a little thrill at the realization that he was nervous, yes, but not afraid. Whether some of the fear was fading or he just wanted Clint too much to think Phil wasn't sure, and he supposed in the end it didn't matter.

Clint's breath hitched as Phil's hand slid down over his swelling cock, and he shifted his hips forward into the other man's hand. "Phil... yes," he rasped softly, his head falling forward and his lips brushing against the other man's forehead. The contact was simple, careful, but it affected Clint on the very deepest of levels. He hadn't realized just how much he'd needed the intimacy with his handler. It was just about the sex. It was comfort, protection, security. It was reassurance that they could still have something in spite of what had been done to them.

Phil maintained eye contact whenever they were far enough apart for that to be feasible. He needed the extra intimacy. He needed Clint to see him and to see Clint and to do more than just feel his way through the moment. They both did. It wasn't the only wall they'd need to tear down before they were safe again, but it was a starting point, and Phil found himself smiling when he heard Clint's breath catch or felt his hips move instinctively. The simple responses told him that Clint remained relaxed enough to enjoy what was happening instead of freaking out about what had happened to them in the past.

Clint arched up into Phil's hand, panting softly, his heart thumping a steady rhythm in his chest. His fingers ran over Phil's torso, the calloused digits gently tracing over the ragged scar there. He marked the ridges and valleys and stitch marks and marveled at how Phil could have survived the injury at all. Bright blue eyes met the other man's as he reminded himself that Phil was real and alive, and he leaned in for another kiss as his hands slid to either side of Phil's neck and he rutted against the man's hand.

Normally Phil didn't like anyone seeing the scar - he didn't like to see it himself - not to mention touching it. Clint's fingers on his skin burned in the best possible way. Every touch left tendrils of warmth in their wake. For once he didn't let himself get sidetracked by the fact that he should by rights have been dead and buried instead of alive and touching Clint. Somehow he'd managed to win more than one lottery in life, and he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth even if it did mean shutting down the parts of his brain telling him to be cautious. Instead he touched and tasted and moved without any particular hurry to make Clint feel as good as possible.

Clint growled his appreciation of the contact, pressing close to the other man and then licking and nipping needfully along his neck. "Feels so good," he breathed, his fingers curling where they lay against the scar on Phil's chest. His hand slid down the other man's torso, and calloused fingers came to rest on the waistband of Phil's pajama pants. "Phil, can I... do you mind if I touch you?" he asked softly. He wanted to, desperately. But he also was afraid that he'd be doing something to bring the session to an end, and he didn't want to stop having Phil's hands and lips on his skin until they were both damn good and ready to quit. 

Instinct said to pull back, to stop, but Phil nodded instead. Seeing Clint's eyes dark with passion made the decision an easy one. He needed Clint to know that he was trusted wholly and completely. "Yes. I- no, I don't mind." Despite the faltering acceptance, the words were sincere. When they'd come so close to going so far before, it had felt out of control. The touches and kisses they shared were no less passionate, but Phil didn't feel the edge of desperation. He suspected that was what allowed him to let go enough to agree despite his nerves. "I think it goes without saying, but just... take it slow."

Clint nodded, determined already that he wasn't going to let Phil regret agreeing to more. He shifted back ever so slightly on Phil's lap, leaning back far enough to make sure he could see the other man's face. He wanted to be able to watch and make sure he didn't miss any faint signs of any misgivings the other man might have. He also just wanted to see his lover. He hadn't gotten a good look at Phil during their tryst in the club, and he wasn't going to miss another opportunity. His fingers slipped carefully into Phil's pants, his briefs, and Clint sucked in a breath at the feel of that incredibly thick cock against his hand. "Almost... almost forgot how big you are." He smiled faintly, blue eyes dark and wicked. "Almost."

Phil’s ears went pink at the words, and he ducked his head for a second. The desire to see Clint overwhelmed any bashfulness almost immediately. The man's eyes were dark, and he looked faintly awed by the whole thing. Phil felt the same way. The physical pleasure was pleasant, but his investment in the moment went far beyond that. He liked the way it felt. He loved the person making him feel it. Even without saying the words, thinking them made a difference, and Phil relaxed just a bit more. His grip on Clint's cock was sure and certain, though he remained ever watchful for any sign of displeasure.

 

Clint smiled at the sight of Phil blushing. His fingers tightened a little on Phil's cock, and he gently nuzzled his way along Phil's jaw until his lips were close to the man's ear. His tongue flicked out against the lobe, and he let Phil feel his breath against his skin as he growled out a soft moan. "You're hot when you blush. I take it no one's made a habit of talking dirty to you? Or maybe just not about this?" he asked, his fingers tightening around the thick shaft in his hand as his own hips rutted against Phil's grip.

That was a fair assessment. Certainly a handful of his lovers hadn't minded that particular attribute, but a few had been openly squeamish. All in all, it was surprisingly affecting to have Clint staring at him like a buffet laid out for the taking. "Could just be that no one's ever sounded so good saying it," Phil answered, recovering some of his ability to banter by virtue of how turned on Clint was. He loved the feeling of the man fucking his hand like he couldn't get enough. The hitching breaths he heard every time his hand tightened in just the right way or his wrist twisted perfectly were even more rewarding. Clint wasn't a screamer, exactly, but he was definitely vocal - not surprising, really, but still a pleasant discovery. "I always have liked listening to you."

 

Clint groaned softly as Phil's hand seemed more and more to do all the right things. His partner was definitely picking up on all his cues, figuring him out, playing him like some tightly-strung instrument. It was difficult for him to keep any sort of rhythm of his own in his efforts to return the favor, and Clint had to fight to strike a balance in focuses. "Well, you're going to h... hear plenty more," he said, voice hitching as Phil's thumb traveled over a sensitive spot. Bright blue eyes studied Phil's face, and Clint couldn't help but feel another surge of arousal at how intent his lover looked. He could feel himself getting close, but Clint was determined to at least get Phil closer to the edge before he came. 

"That is the general idea." He couldn't help but sound a little breathless with Clint touching him. Reality outstripped fantasy in everything but their shared trauma. Phil let that thought drift away and focused on how good Clint's hand felt. He couldn't really move his own hips much with Clint sitting on top of them, but the restriction somehow added to the intensity rather than taking away from it. He had to trust Clint to take care of him. They'd trusted one another with their lives for years. Trusting Clint with his pleasure was a small thing. A small thing that meant something huge after what they'd been through. Breath coming faster, Phil found himself stroking a bit harder, mindful of possible chafing and trying to keep his movements measured. "Let me hear a little more."

While Clint was never the sort to deliberately put on a show in bed, he rarely ever had to; he was a performer by nature, especially when someone he truly cared about was touching him and playing him in all the right ways. Clint's lean-muscled body arched against the other man, his fingers convulsing around Phil's cock as the archer spilled himself hotly over his partner's hand. He cried out as he found his release, his other hand gripping Phil's shoulder for all he was worth. "Phil.... god.... yes..."

It was easily the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. Phil came damn close to getting off just at the sound of his name on Clint's lips and the feeling of the man's body shaking against him. Beautiful barely even began to describe the vulnerable, open expression on Clint's face and the delicious tension Phil felt in the man's muscles. He didn't stop stroking until he could hear a shift from panting to a desperation that bordered on pain. Finally he let go and lifted his hand, carefully tasting the release on his fingers without ever looking away from Clint's face.

Clint was pretty sure he'd never see anything hotter in his life. Still panting softly, he grabbed Phil's wrist and tugged the man's hand to his lips, eyes hooded as he licked his own release from his partner's fingers, taking a moment to suck at the digits and let his tongue drag sinuously between Phil's fingers. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Phil's, his fingers taking a more sure hold on Phil's cock. "Still need to see you cum," he rasped against Phil's lips. "'Course, I'd be willing to suck you off if my hand's not enough..."

Tempting as the thought was - the memory of Clint's mouth wrapped around him was still burned pleasantly into Phil's mind - he shook his head slightly. "I like you like this. Closer." They could try something else next time, but he didn't want to let go of the one-handed grip he held on Clint's hip. He didn't want to miss the warmth of Clint's breath on his lips or the closeness. For the moment he needed that assurance more than anything else. "You're doing just fine. Promise." Anything that involved Clint touching him for as long as possible sounded perfect.

Clint smiled, releasing Phil's hand and leaning in to press their lips together with a low groan. He couldn't deny that it felt perfect to have Phil pressed close to him, tensing and shivering in answer to every shift of Clint's fingers. Phil's reactions seemed all the more intense for their subtlety, and Clint drew back to watch Phil's face, those steely blue eyes darkened with arousal and watching him just as closely. "You look good when you're turned on," he murmured. "Didn't get to see as well before... at the club."

Not able to do a lot of talking with Clint driving him to the point of distraction, Phil nodded. He was mostly just relieved that it was a show Clint enjoyed. The more he liked what he saw and what they did, the more likely it was that he'd stick around even after things got back to normal for them. His lips brushed against Clint's, and his hips did their best to shift. Clint's weight held him pinned, and for whatever reason it was the comforting weight of the man that pushed him over the edge. That was all it took for Phil's eyes to close briefly and his breath to catch. He sighed Clint's name as he came over the man's clenched fist.

Clint's knees squeezed Phil's hips as the man shuddered underneath him and hot release spilled over his hand. Mimicking his partner's earlier move, he brought his hand to his lips and began licking his fingers clean, still gripping Phil tightly with powerful thighs. "Just don't wanna miss the chance to taste you," he murmured softly, hooded blue eyes watching the other man's face. The moment was perfect, intimate, everything he needed. "I..." He trailed off, biting back the words he'd started to say. It seemed too soon to say them, and he was afraid he'd be saying them for the wrong reasons. //Just because you're feeling grateful and secure doesn't mean you need to say things you can't unsay.//

Phil caught the hesitation, the breath of uncertainty, and decided to end it by sliding his hand behind Clint's head and dragging him down into a lingering kiss. He wasn't entirely sure what Clint had intended to say, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know. Not yet. Not when the man might not really mean it. When their lips parted, Phil found himself smiling all the same. "I don't want want to miss anything with you either. Especially not a shower. What do you say?" In an odd way, that was more intimate than what they'd just done, but considering they'd spent all their time sleeping, cuddling, and now jerking each other off all without getting any further away from one another than was necessary, it didn't seem like a crazy idea.

Clint smiled, relieved that Phil hadn't pressed and more than interested in the proposal. "Sounds perfect," he said, sliding off the other man's lap and grabbing his hand, tugging him towards the shower. Clint shed the last of his clothing before turning on the shower, then realized it was the first time Phil had seen him completely naked. Not that the aggregate views Phil had caught didn't add up to the same, but... Clint felt momentarily vulnerable, but the feeling passed quickly and he smiled. "You're gonna need to be more naked."

"Oh. Right. Yes." Phil blushed and made short work of his clothing. He felt silly for standing there gaping at the man like a piece of meat, but the fact was that Clint was gorgeous. Even bruised and battered, he was beautiful. Always had been. Never before had Phil been quite so grateful for his dedication to gym trips on his lunch hour and a regular regimen of martial arts. Though he knew he wasn't nearly as impressive as the archer, he didn't have anything to be actively embarrassed about. The scar on his chest wasn't exactly lovely, but it was part of him, good or bad, and Clint hadn't recoiled from it. "So is the water hot yet, or are we going to stand out here getting cold? Because the view isn't going to improve if that's the case."

Clint grinned, checking the water before he slid in and held his hand out, "I think we're good to go." He tried not to think too much about the peppering of bruises and the clear bite marks on Phil's shoulders, instead pulling the man close and looping his arms under Phil's, lightly curling his fingers over strong shoulders as Clint rested his head against Phil's chest. He sighed quietly, what little tension that was left in him ebbing away under the hot shower. "Needed this. More than I realized."

"The shower or this?" Phil asked, smiling as they settled in against one another. It was counterproductive, really, blocking skin that needed cleaning, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The hot water drummed down relentlessly on his back, but Phil barely noticed it. He couldn't pay attention to much except for the beautiful man nestled against him. "I think it's fair to say I wouldn't be sane right now if you weren't here." He winced and carefully added, "I don't say that to make you feel like you can't go anywhere, I just need you to know how much it's meant to have you next to me through this."

The moment was perfect, quiet, and Clint felt perfectly secure and reassured. The archer pressed his face into Phil's neck, letting the water run down over his head and taking a deep breath as emotions he'd unwittingly been holding back started to bubble to the surface. He was crying before he knew it, tears disappearing into hot water as he shook silently against Phil. He composed himself after several long moments, but he didn't let go. "I think..." He took a deep breath. "I think I might not feel too comfortable going places without you for awhile. Maybe a long while." Phil was safety, but Clint also wanted to know that the man was safe, didn't want to let him get too far away. 

"That's fine with me," Phil answered immediately. He shifted back just enough to press a light kiss to Clint's forehead only to slide back into position tightly wound with Clint. "More than fine. I don't think I particularly want to go anywhere without you right now either." Or ever. "I think we should turn in for the night once we're cleaned up and see about breakfast somewhere other than the suite in the morning." Phil's voice grew more resolute as he spoke. "I don't want Loki thinking he gets to decide where we stay or what we do anymore."

Clint nodded, trying to stay calm at the reminder that Loki was someone they'd likely be running into eventually. "Yeah... yeah, I don't wanna hide forever," he agreed, finally reaching around Phil to grab for the soap.

They separated long enough to get cleaned up, and Clint felt a hell of a lot better about damn near everything as they slid into the sheets and he curled up against Phil like the man was the most precious thing in the world. Clint was starting to think he was, in fact, just that, but he was a little afraid that it was because Phil was a security blanket. //Then again, hasn't he always been?// Clint sighed quietly, deciding it was too much to sort out and letting himself drift off.


	5. Status Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nat and May... catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, guys, but getting back on schedule with updates now, I swear!

For a few moments after stepping out of the room, Natasha seriously considered finding Logan and Scott and asking if they needed a third for the evening. That sounded desperate even in theory. Deciding it was best to do something productive to try to get her libido in check, Natasha strode toward the living room. It was empty. May seemed like the best bet to get an unemotional update on everything that was going on, so Natasha headed for the gym. As expected, she found the woman there running calmly through a tai chi kata. "I take it movie night wasn't as blessedly relaxing as it could have been?"

 

May continued moving, unwilling to interrupt the kata before it was finished. "Oh, it was fine," she said, still moving rhythmically in spite of her now-divided attention. "No one broke any furniture. Impressive, considering how many Avengers we had in one room. Simmons is apparently dating the Hulk, and I'm pretty sure Ward is currently having sex with an alien. Other than that, nothing unusual." A pause as she finished the kata and straightened. "At least, relative to what we usually deal with."

"Par for the course for SHIELD lately." Once upon a time, it had been espionage and undercover missions and terrorists. It had been things Natasha understood. The influx of strange creatures and deities and aliens had left her feeling uncertain. She hated feeling uncertain. She hated feeling anything but entirely and completely in control of situations. Watching May move was soothing, and Natasha fell in step, shadowing her even without knowing the kata precisely. The flowing motion felt good and soothed her frayed nerves a bit. Phil and Clint could take care of each other, and they needed to find a rhythm to do it without her being in the way. "Ward's an idiot."

That was enough to bring a real - albeit small - smile to May's face. "He is. But I'm sure he'll have bruises, so that makes it better." She couldn't help but appreciate Natasha's graceful movements as they went through the routine, and she silently stole glances of the woman's form as she shifted. "You'd think he'd know better. Then again, maybe he just likes pain. Or being turned into a newt or whatever it is that Loki will do to him if Ward makes him angry."

"He'll kind of deserve it," Natasha answered dispassionately, breathing through the movement and then glancing over at May. It was hard not to notice that the woman's ass looked phenomenal in her yoga pants. Hearing that Ward was hooking up with a psychopathic alien did have one potential upside. "I take it the two of you aren't a thing anymore?" May and Ward certainly hadn't been dating, but Natasha knew they'd been sleeping together. Unlike her repeated flings with Clint, it wasn't common knowledge, but Natasha had never been one to let something being secret stop her from knowing it.

May actually posed mid-movement. Her face betrayed nothing, save for a raised eyebrow. "I'd ask you who you've been talking to, but considering how good you are at getting information out of people, I don't really need to, do I?" She resumed the kata, moving slowly to make sure that Natasha was able to continue mimicking her motions. She smirked faintly. "And no, I suppose we're not really a 'thing' anymore. At least not an exclusive one."

Natasha smiled faintly as they moved. May wasn't pissed that she knew what was going on, and that was a good sign. She also didn't seem overly attached to Ward, which was a better sign considering what Natasha was beginning to think of as her plans for the evening. "As it turns out, my standing date now has a standing date with someone else." The woman tossed May an easy smile as they pivoted slowly on the mats. "It's good news, but it means I suddenly have a lot of time on my hands. Any idea what I should do with it?"

"Well," May said, smirking to herself as they shifted so that Nat couldn't see her face, "I suppose you could drop the pretense of working out with me and get to seducing me." A graceful step, a pivot on her heel, and she was sliding her arm around Natasha's slim waist. "Unless you think we need some wine first?" She raised an eyebrow, "Unless you'd rather just keep doing tai chi for the rest of the night."

"I think we need it to forgot the last few days... but not for the seduction," Natasha answered, her hands settling on May's waist and the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "That I'm happy to do stone cold sober." She glanced around the room and and then jerked her head toward the door. "Let's find someplace less public. I don't mind putting on a show, but some of the boys around here might have a heart attack. I don't want to listen to a lecture from Rogers about not killing my teammates. Again."

Once they were behind securely closed doors, May shrugged off her jacket and then closed distance with Natasha once more. Her fingers tugged Nat's shirt loose of her jeans, fingers sliding up along firm abs to her back. May smirked. Nat was clearly wearing a fancy, lacy bra. "I wonder sometimes how you manage your underwear budget. Not that I'm complaining," she added, deftly unfastening the garment one-handed. "They do make your tits look great... er."

"That's the general idea," Natasha answered with a wicked smile. "And I expense it. Occupational necessity. Hard to go undercover as a sexy hooker or whatever ridiculous cover they have made up for me if I don't look the part. And if I get a little extra use out of it..." The redhead's smile grew, if anything, more predatory, and she stole a quick kiss from May before sliding her hands down over the tempting curve of the woman's ass. It felt even better than it looked, and her breath caught for a moment. It had been awhile since she spent much of her free time with anyone but Clint. She'd forgotten how incredible it could feel to have the softer curves of a woman's body molded against her own.

May quirked an eyebrow coyly in response. "Well, I suppose that's fair," she allowed, her fingers sliding up Natasha's sides and pushing shirt and bra up over the woman's head and arms in one easy movement. Natasha was all deadly graceful curves and perfectly toned muscle, and Melinda couldn't help but think it was a shame they hadn't hooked up sooner. She tugged Nat down into a more intensive kiss, her hand at the back of the other woman's neck as the other palmed a firm breast and one of her thighs slid firmly between Natasha's legs.

Not many people caught Natasha off guard, mostly because she tended to be in control of any given situation the moment she stepped into it. With May things were different. Though they'd known each other for most of her time at SHIELD, it wasn't the same as it was with Clint, who she'd been joined at the hip with on and off duty for so long they knew one another often better than they knew themselves. May was an unknown equation, and Natasha tasted the new and unusual on her lips. Natasha let her fingernails scrape lightly over May's back before she began more intently divesting the woman of her clothing. 

May disengaged only as much as was absolutely necessary to squirm out of her clothes, leaving her in simple black bikini-cut panties and matching cotton bra. The undergarments weren't nearly as tantalizing or frilly as Natasha's, but they were more than flattering to May's lithe form. She was quick to close the distance between them once more, and she practically purred as her lips fell on Natasha's throat, her fingers trailing down the other woman's taut abs before slipping between Nat's legs to stroke her through lacy panties.

Natasha didn't want too much air between them, but she did find herself staring whenever the moment presented itself. May's underwear wasn't fancy, but it fit her personality better for that fact. May was like a classic car, all sleek lines that needed no ridiculous adornment to be utterly perfect. She sighed with pleasure as May's fingers found precisely the right spot even working blind. The redhead's hand mirrored the action, waiting for the telltale intake of breath that would mean she'd found her target. "Remind me to find reasons to see you like this more often."

"You need reasons? Because I think you could just tell me you need me naked. That usually works," May breathed, pressing in for a slow kiss before tugging Nat toward the bed. She urged the other woman down to the mattress, draping herself half over Nat's powerfully lean form. Her lips were immediately closed over one of the redhead's pert nipples as she reached back to stroke her through her panties, pressing inward teasingly at just the right moments. 

"Speaking of which? Naked. Now," Natasha agreed, gasping even as she deftly unclasped May's bra and flung it off the bed. Even Natasha's focus wasn't perfect, and she faltered as her fingers slid into the waistband of May's underwear. May's lips and tongue and fingers had her losing track of everything all too soon. Not even Clint managed to get her hot and bothered with so little effort. Apparently May's skills extended beyond being able to kill people with a flick of her wrist. "Definitely should have asked sooner." Natasha finally remembered what she'd been doing and slid the black panties over May's ass, pushing them as far down her thighs as possible before she let her fingers play over May's back teasingly.

May let out a harsh sigh, wriggling impatiently against the other woman. She could feel the fabric under her fingers getting soaked through, and she smirked. "Looks like I'm not losing my touch," she observed, hand sliding up only to dip back down into Natasha's panties. She could worry about actually pushing them off later. Right then, May needed to feel the tender, moist flesh under her fingers and see just what Natasha looked like when she was thoroughly turned on. "Speaking of which, you're strongly encouraged to do some touching of your own." It was more impatient than May tended to be, but Nat's touch was making her unusually anxious.

"Since I've left you feeling impatient, I should make it up to you." There weren't many people in the world who had ever accused Natasha of moving too slowly. Instead of finding it annoying, she smiled as she twisted and rolled May onto her back, sliding the woman's underwear the rest of the way off in the same motion. Natasha spared little of the flesh bared to her from kisses as she made her way down to settle between May's legs. The redhead looked up to meet May's gaze and enjoy the look of impatient desire on her face. Not much made Melinda May impatient. Natasha definitely took it as a compliment. Bending low, she let her tongue flick gently against the woman's clit, testing the waters, teasing for a moment longer.

May felt her breath hitch, and she reflexively parted her legs a little further to the contact. Reaching down, she tangled her fingers in lush red hair and tugged lightly. "I should probably point out that you're not doing anything to make me less impatient," she murmured, though she seemed more amused than put out. She wanted to demand more, but she wasn't quite willing to show she was so affected by the other woman. Not yet, at least.

Natasha chuckled, not the least bit bothered by the vague note of annoyance in May's voice. Even the hint of displeasing May was enough to send some people running for the hills. She considered it a challenge. In fact, Natasha seriously considered pushing the tease even farther, but her own desires got the better of her. Instead of denying May the pleasure any longer, she buried her face between the woman's legs and starting to work her over in earnest. The heat of May's body left Natasha gripping the woman's hips as if it helped her hold on to her control of the situation. Even as she worked, Natasha shifted restlessly against the sheets, longing for a little relief of her own.

A strangled, somewhat undignified gasp escaped May's lips before she managed to take a deep breath and calm herself a little. She still couldn't help the occasional soft moan or whimper, though, as Natasha's lips and tongue found all the most perfect places inside her. She tangled her fingers in long red hair, stroking and then tugging lightly when a shift on Nat's part sent an extra jolt of pleasure through her. She couldn't miss the other woman's squirming, though, and she smirked, using her handhold to tug Nat up for a kiss. Her fingers slipped into the redhead's slick, wet sex, giving her a long, slow stroke. "You looked like you could use some help," she murmured against the other woman's ear.

"Oh, fuck yes," Natasha gasped, beyond playing hard to get. May had her, and the feeling was apparently mutual. Reserved though she might be when it came to certain things, sex wasn't about denial. It could be a power play, but it didn't ever have to be about anything in the end but everyone having fun. Her own fingers quickly found their intended target. Two of the slender digits carefully dipped inside of May's body while her thumb lazily circled the woman's clit in a way that Natasha knew never failed to leave her own body quaking. "Let it never be said that I'm not a giver."

 

"Fair enough," May breathed, finding herself once again thoroughly distracted by Natasha's touch. It took a few seconds of her rutting against the other woman's hand before she remembered that she had some work of her own to do. She nipped at the red-head's neck and the licked her way to one tender earlobe, lightly taking it between her teeth and tugging at the soft skin as her fingers slowly made long strokes into her partner's body and then up over Natasha's clit before delving back inward.

The stress and tension of the preceding days had left Natasha overwrought and on edge. The sure, silken pressure of May's touch had her unraveling in moments. "God, I needed this," she panted against May's ear, her hips moving of their own volition. Natasha did nothing to hold back the reaction. She wanted every inch of her appreciation for May's skill to be entirely obvious. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her head as May's questing fingers found exactly the right spot and pressed the advantage vigorously. "If you want me to cum for you," Natasha purred, "you just keep doing that."

"Mm? This?" May replied coyly, fingers jabbing against that perfect spot. She relished the way Natasha squirmed against her in response. Having the ability to make someone so strong and stoic squirm so perfectly was intoxicating as hell. She pressed her lips to the red-head's throat, sucking and tugging at the skin until she was sure she'd raised at least one good hickey. Nat could cover it up with makeup if she wanted, but May wanted her to have a reminder.

Natasha didn't bother stopping herself. Control was overrated when it was so much more fun to just let it come. Given May's skills, Natasha didn't doubt that the woman could have her knees buckling all over again in no time. The near-pain of May's lips, tongue, and teeth worrying at her neck along with the pressure of May's fingers soon had her arching off the bed. She let out a barely-intelligible scream of Russian to express her appreciation as the waves of pleasure came crashing over her. Even through the most intense of the release, Natasha's own fingers never stopped working. Her thumb flicked against May's clit, albeit with a far less steady rhythm and a bit less finesse while her muscles trembled uncontrollably.

May followed the other woman a moment later. The feel of the sinuous, powerful body bucking against her own and the way Natasha managed to keep finger-fucking her even through her orgasm was more than enough to reduce her to a quivering, groaning bundle of nerves. She sagged against the red-head for a moment before shifting away with a sated purr. "Mmm... tell me why we haven't done this before? Because I feel like there's not a good excuse for it."

"None. Absolutely none," Natasha agreed before dragging May in with her free hand and kissing the woman full on the mouth. The gesture was messy and hot, and when Natasha broke away, she let out a sigh of pure satisfaction. "No excuse not to have that as often as possible." She withdrew her fingers carefully and licked them clean, sighing at the taste of the slick fluid coating her hand. "If it helps, I'm happy to spend the rest of the night making you cum so that neither one of us forgets again."

"I'd be alright with that," May agreed breathlessly, watching Nat clean her own fingers. "Especially after watching you do that." She leaned in to press her mouth to Natasha's kiss-swollen lips, sighing pleasantly as she shifted to one side of her lover, her thigh sliding between strong thighs. "Might even be alright with you picking back up where you left off with your mouth earlier. Kind of regret interrupting you."

"I'd be more than happy to oblige." With their legs slotted together, Natasha shifted, putting pressure firmly where it belonged. Seeing May cum once had been delightful, but it only made her think about how good it would be the next time and the time after that. The idea that sex was a source of pleasure that should be taken advantage of as liberally and fully as possible as often as possible was one of the philosophies over which she and Clint had bonded. "Kind of shame that Clint and I never asked you over to play. Of course, I don't think he would've known what to do with both of us at once."

May let out a tense sigh, rocking her hips up into Nat's thigh. "Definitely a shame, but Barton seems like a nice guy. I'd hate to break him," she said with a smirk. She actually had no doubt that Clint would be able to withstand them in that regard, but Nat was probably right in suspecting he wouldn't quite know what to do. "Maybe we could invite him and Phil both sometime when they're feeling more social."

"I really do love the way your mind works," Natasha agreed. She'd always wondered if there was something between May and Coulson. They bickered like an old married couple on missions. So did she and Clint, so eventually Natasha had decided that if they were anything, they were likely fuck buddies. Certainly she couldn't blame anyone interested in sharing that particular relationship with Coulson. It was why she'd pushed him and Clint so carefully in one another's direction. "I do enjoy playdates." Natasha smiled and began kissing her way back down May's body. She could feel the undercurrent of desire still thrumming through the woman, and it wouldn't do to keep a pretty lady waiting too long.

May shifted eagerly under Natasha's attentions, her lips parting in anticipation as she watched the red-head shift lower. Her hand absently wandered up to her breast, and she toyed with one rock-hard nipple there as she parted her knees a little further. "I like it. But I want a chance to try out Barton. He's bendy. I like bendy," she decided. With Nat's lips getting enticingly close to their target, May couldn't help a soft sound of anticipation from the back of her throat. "Then again, I suppose there's no point if the four of us aren't just tangled up in a big pile together, mm?"

"Bendy is definitely good. Trust me," Natasha agreed, her tongue flicking out against the woman's clit again and again until she finally gave in and simply buried her face between May's legs. May was absolutely right about the idea of a huge pile of writhing agents. It sounded promising to say the least. Though she knew it would probably be awhile before it wasn't tempting fate, Natasha would have honestly hated to never get to spend any time with Clint again, and she certainly didn't mind revisiting things with Coulson. Stopping for a moment to take a breath, she panted, "I think we have party plans when the boys are back on their feet."

May squirmed impatiently against the mattress, resisting the urge for a moment to shove Natasha's face back between her legs. "We might have to get Phil drunk... or at least buzzed. And not warn him," she decided, her arousal spiking further at the thought of it. "Maybe get Barton to distract him. Or handcuff him. Or both." She moaned softly at the thought, even just the idea of watching the two men tangled up together, and she gave Natasha's hair a pleading tug and shifted underneath her.

Now that was a intriguing idea, but Natasha didn't bother stopping to say so. Instead she continued to lick and such at May's clit. Judging from the increasingly erratic movements of the woman's hips, May was just as worked up over the thought as she was herself. Natasha made a mental note to nominate Logan and Scott for playtime too once she was able to speak freely once again. In the meantime, she wanted nothing but May cumming hard, maybe moaning her name. Without missing a beat at the task at hand, Natasha let her fingers slid between her own legs to relieve some of the building ache.

May didn't need much more. Between the ideas of what they were going to do with the boys down the road and - more importantly - Natasha's incredible skill, she was soon granting the redhead's unspoken wish, moaning her name and tugging lightly at soft red hair as her hips rocked against Nat's lips. When she finally couldn't take anymore, May tugged Nat up into a kiss, savoring the taste of herself on the woman's mouth. "I'd tell you how fucking amazing you are at that, but I think you're already aware," she murmured with a smirk.

"I've been told," Natasha agreed with a smile in return. She let her legs settle with May's thigh between them, the delicious friction sending sparks of desire right up her spine. It was a heady thing to be the focus of Melinda's May's attention. "If you want someone to play with sooner rather than later," Natasha knew it was likely to be well into the future before Phil and Clint felt secure enough with just the two of them to want any interruptions, "I might have another idea." She kissed a trail to Melinda's ear and suggested, "I had some fun with Logan and Scott the other night. I'd put good money down that they'd be game." As much as she enjoyed getting May off herself, Natasha couldn't help but wonder how sexy she'd look riding one of them toward a screaming climax.

May raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, clearly intrigued as she slid her fingers between Natasha's legs, stroking her clit lightly a few times before reversing their positions easily. She shifted back to settle between Nat's legs and smiled. "The big, burly rugged guy with the smaller, blue-eyed one? Those two... Hell, yes, I'd be game for that," she purred, leaning down to slowly lick her way into the redhead's weeping sex. She moaned as the taste hit her tongue, driving shivers down her spine, the wet muscle driving deeper as one of her hands smoothed over Nat's taut thigh.

"Oh, fuck," Natasha purred, her back arching, though May's hand on her thigh was enough to remind her to keep her hips still more or less. She managed to get herself together enough to look down at the other woman with a smirk on her lips. "You should see them together. And Summers is almost as good with his tongue as you are. Almost." It would be a hell of a good time to test their skills side by side, that was for damn sure. "Didn't get a chance to take them for a real ride... but I bet we could change that this time around with not a lot of persuasion."

May let her appreciation of the idea show in the way she dragged her tongue up over Natasha's wet folds, sucking at her clit as her fingers delved into the redhead's wet sex. The idea of getting to play with the feral, rugged mutant and his painfully gorgeous boyfriend and Romanov as well was just all kinds of hot and sexy. May was pretty sure she'd have paid good money just to have seen the three of them fuck. Getting to participate sounded like every wet dream she'd ever had.

Natasha's head twisted on the pillow. She had given up on trying to keep still and instead thrust back against May's fingers, hips rolling. She heard herself let out an honest-to-god whimper as May's fingers crooked in just the right spot at just the right moment. "Busy tomorrow?" she panted. "I'll... I'll talk to Logan." Scott, she suspected, would go along with whatever Logan approved. For all that the man was perfectly in control in the field from everything she'd heard, it was just as obvious that in their relationship, Logan was the one calling the shots. "Right there," she gasped, clutching at May's fingers.

May kept stroking over the spot that seemed to be sending perfect waves of pleasure through the redhead. She looked up for a moment to answer, "I think I could set aside a few hours tomorrow," before diving back into suckling at the other woman's clit. The idea that they'd get to play with the incredibly hot couple was enough to make her squirm in anticipation all over again, and May couldn't decide which one she wanted to play with first.

Natasha twisted against the sheets. Her free hand shot up above her head, grabbing the pillow as she writhed against Melinda's ministrations. "You have magical fingers in case... case no one's ever told you." Her body quaked with the force of her desire, trembling until she finally fell over the edge of her second climax of the evening. "Fuck, Melinda!" she screamed. If someone overheard, well, they'd have plenty of wank fodder for presumably the rest of their lives. Natasha didn't much care what anyone did so long as May kept stroking her through the tremors.

May worked every last shudder from Natasha's body, savoring the way she was able to make someone as stalwart as herself fall apart so completely. Hearing Natasha scream her name and watching those full lips quiver with passion made it all the better. When Nat finally went still against the sheets, Melinda slid up beside her, pressing a kiss to already-swollen lips and moaning softly. She sagged beside the other woman and sighed contentedly. "This has got to be some of the best sex I've had in... ever. And I think you know me well enough to know I'm not just saying that," she added with a smirk.

"Easily ever," Natasha agreed, her smile warm and satisfied as she shifted to lie on her side, fingers trailing over May's bare skin. There was no urgency in the movement. It was simple contact for the sake of it. If she hadn't been so thoroughly blissed out, Natasha might have questioned herself for doing something so seemingly intimate. "I hope you understand when I say that this happening again isn't a possibility, it's inevitable. I'm afraid I won't be able to let you sidestep it." The words were teasing, but there was a thread of something firmer behind them. "I can't remember the last time I came that hard."

May smirked. "I won't tell Clint you said that as long as you promise you'll tackle me in the martial arts room sometime," she decided. She nipped at Natasha's chin, trailing her fingers over something on the redhead's shoulder that was either a bite mark or a hickey (or both) with a look of amusement. "Then again, I don't think he'd care all that much now. He seems pretty happy with Phil."

"I hope he is," Natasha answered earnestly. "Phil's been at least half in love with him for as long as I can remember. It would be nice if it worked." She knew Phil could give Clint everything he craved, it would just be a matter of whether Clint would let him get close enough. "I want the right fit for him. He deserves to have someone who's in it for the long haul."

"As long as Barton doesn't hurt his feelings. I'd hate to have to break something that pretty," May noted, only half-joking. She didn't know a lot about the archer, but she'd heard some pretty raunchy stories around the water cooler at work. Then again, she also knew that Phil had had to watch over the archer for several months and that he had to know Barton's reputation. "They'd make a sickeningly adorable couple, though. Even if it does mean I can kiss my dreams of a threesome with you and Barton goodbye."

"If you'd told me a month ago you were dreaming about it..." Natasha smirked and rolled onto her stomach to get a better look at May. The woman was stunning at any time, but debauched and disheveled, she reached a whole new height of sexy. Unlike Clint's post-sex hair, Natasha knew it was a side of May not many people had seen. "That said, once the dust settles, I think we might just be trading in a threesome for a small orgy. Unless Phil likes to watch. I can't say I ever thought to ask him."

May seemed to search her memories awhile as she considered the unspoken question. "Huh. You know, I really have no idea. We never really talked about sex." She smirked at Nat. "But you know, the guys that are that uptight always have the best kinks," she decided. "I'm all for small orgies, though. Big ones get confusing, but as long as it's not more than you can fit in the big booth at Denny's and everyone's hot and clean, I'm all for it."

"Fair terms," Natasha agreed, not bothering to note that they were more or less an identical copy of her own manifesto. She'd tried a broader orgy once just to say she had, but it had been messy and tedious, and a lot more work than fun in her mind. "Once they're up to it, we'll ask. Meantime, I vote we have a little chat with Scott and Logan after movie night. Maybe we can extend the team bonding a little bit into the evening..." She lazily kissed May's shoulder, enjoying the quiet moments and banter. "I'm surprised you and Coulson never... well, I thought you'd been a thing at one point or another."

May shrugged faintly. "We'd have a little fun together sometimes, but it wasn't often enough that whether he likes to watch came up. Though considering he's dating Barton now, he's either into way kinkier stuff than I'd have ever guessed, or he's in for a serious education," she said with a smirk. Barton's sexual habits hadn't exactly been a secret, and Melinda found herself hoping that the archer could curb his promiscuous tendencies for Phil's sake. "But he always knew what he was doing." She smirked. "Definitely seemed to like having me on top. Though that may not hold for guys."

"Probably not," Natasha agreed with a casual nod. "Clint likes to play it up with strangers, but one on one... well, he was never on top unless I let him be." Though she didn't want to give anything about their situation away since it was no one's business if they didn't want to share it, Natasha didn't feel bad pointing out, "They'll have plenty of things to work through without worrying about who's topping. The silver lining is that they know each other so well on a platonic basis that this is guaranteed to either be a spectacular success or an unmitigated failure."

Melinda winced a little at the idea of failure. She wanted both men to be happy. She also sure as hell liked thinking of Phil tying Clint to a bed and fucking his brains out, even if she never got to see it anywhere but in her fantasies. "Here's hoping it works, because SHIELD can't afford the amount of chocolate and beer it would take to fix that problem. Not to mention, I'm not dealing with a fat, mopey, Clint Barton hanging out on the common room couch and watching reruns of Friends until his brain finishes imploding."

"I... will not let that happen," Natasha answered with a mock shudder. "For one thing, it would be a crime to let anyone ruin a body that nice. For another, Clint mopes like it's an Olympic sport. He gets in a snit like a teenage girl. I refuse to handle that crap. Also there's the fact that if he intentionally does anything to hurt Phil, I may be obliged to gut him. And vice versa. It's a potentially messy gamble, but it's going to be worth it, I think. I hope. They deserve it working out."


End file.
